Nutcracker
by Bicoastal
Summary: It's a matter of trust.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Marvel Comics, Fairview Entertainment, Dark Blades Films, and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All others belong to us, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask us first. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Last year ****Cincoflex**** and I had a really great idea. Due to NaNoWriMo and other considerations, it didn't get finished until now. I'm going to be boastful and say...I think it was worth the wait. *grin* It is always a privilege and a pleasure to write with such a talented, warm-hearted author, who very generously let me have my own way in almost every point in this story. Thank you, love. -- VRTrakowski**

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_October, 1981_

The lawyer's name was Nathan Feinberg, and he was nearly bald, with big dark-framed glasses that made his brown eyes look huge. Even though Mr. Feinberg said he didn't like kids, Tony respected him. He never talked down to him; he never tried to be that phony kind of nice to him, even when his parents were around.

Tony decided he liked that kind of honesty. At least with Mr. Feinberg, you got answers, even if you didn't like them. He looked out the windows of the limo, at the passing skyline of Manhattan in mid-autumn and sighed.

"I don't _want_ to stay with Aunt Lucy."

"I know; you said that. Unfortunately, you're going to have to, at least for a while, Tony," Mr. Feinberg rumbled, shooting him an exasperated look. "Believe me, your mother's not any happier about it than you are, and your dad would love to reconsider the deal, but we don't have the time, and in terms of security, this is what works. Tough breaks, kid, but it's for the best."

"How long do I have to stay here?"

"Two months, at least; we'll start with that and see how it goes," Mr. Feinberg sighed, fondling the handle of his briefcase.

Tony looked up, stricken. "That's through _Christmas!_"

"And Hanukkah, I know. Sorry about that, kid. You'll still get presents, and we might be able to sneak in a visit, but I can't make any promises on that last one."

Stony silence. Tony tensed, fighting tears, because he damn well wasn't going to cry, especially in front of Mr. Feinberg. He clamped his jaw tight and blinked away the sting, not looking at the man sitting opposite him for a long time.

Thankfully Mr. Feinberg didn't try to make him feel better; didn't pat his knee or tell him be was brave or that it would be okay. Tony drew in a deep breath. He finally looked at Mr. Feinberg, who was watching him.

"This stinks."

"I know it. On the other hand . . ." Mr. Feinberg murmured, "You understand _why_ we have to do this, and how hard it's going to be on your parents as well. Nobody is thrilled here, except maybe your aunt Lucy, oy."

"She wears too much red on her lips, and she smells like one of those little pillows in my mom's drawer," Tony muttered resentfully. "And everything in her house is breakable."

Mr. Feinberg's mouth twitched. "And your point is--?"

"We're going to drive each other crazy," Tony predicted with glum accuracy. "I know she wishes I was a girl."

"Change her mind," Mr. Feinberg told him. "If you've got even half the brains of your old man—and I know you do, kid—you can find ways to get on her good side. You can go into this with a crappy attitude, or you can make it an adventure."

"An adventure?" Tony shot back with bitterness. "Being farmed out to my mom's sister for who knows how long? Leaving our house and my school and my friends and not knowing what's gonna happen or when things are going to be good again? Yeah, tell me all about it. You had to do it before, right?"

Mr. Feinberg didn't say anything for a long moment. He sighed, and rubbed his forearm through the sleeve of his coat. "Yeah, I did, once."

Tony wasn't expecting that. He looked at Mr. Feinberg, checking to see if the lawyer was lying, but from his bleak expression, Tony knew he wasn't.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And it came out okay. For me, anyway. Oh it's not quite the same thing, but believe me kid, I do know how you feel."

Tony sighed; it wasn't Mr. Feinberg's fault that there had been a kidnapping attempt, or that his mother was completely terrified. She'd known about the Red Brigade; what they'd done to Aldo Moro. The idea that a splinter group in the United States was after her bambino had her frantic with worry, and even with a bodyguard, she didn't feel safe on the West Coast.

Hence the plan to send him to Aunt Lucy.

The car slowed, pulling up in front of 55 Central Park West, and Tony looked up at the building, which was . . . scary. Mr. Feinberg murmured instructions to the driver. "I'll be coming back down in about fifteen minutes. Just circle around and pick me up then." To Tony he added, "This is our stop, kid."

They climbed out of the car, and Tony followed the lawyer into the lobby of the building, feeling nervous. He wasn't afraid, really; just . . . nervous. He and Mr. Feinberg took the elevator up, and Tony cleared his throat. "She got all my stuff, right?"

"I guess so—UPS is pretty good about deliveries," Mr. Feinberg murmured. "Okay, sixteenth floor, Apartment 3. And remember, you're Edward Dellarosa now, got it?"

"Yeah," Tony muttered. "I know, I know."

His middle name, his mother's maiden name . . . easy for him to remember and hard for anyone else to track, hopefully. Tony wasn't crazy about his middle name, but reasoned to himself that it was better than his father's. He didn't think he could pull off being a Julius; Edward was much easier.

The elevator opened, and they stepped out into a quiet, short hallway. Mr. Feinberg led the way to Apartment 3 and rang the bell. The chimes of the Hallelujah Chorus rang out; Tony fought not to laugh at the lawyer's startled expression.

"Hoo-boy," the man muttered. The door opened a moment later, revealing a thin, grey-haired man impeccably dressed a dark three-piece suit.

"Mr. Feinberg; you are expected," came the man's soft British accent. "And this must be our young guest."

"Good to see you again, Jarvis. Mrs. Beresford-Tipton is in?"

"Yes, Mr. Feinberg. This way please."

Tony followed, impressed that Jarvis made no noise at all when he walked even though the three of them passed from carpet to marble. They entered a fancy sunken living room, complete with a gleaming baby grand piano. It was tastefully luxurious, but every wall was covered with knickknacks of every sort: Spoon collections, salt and pepper shakers, big glass grapes, commemorative plates and Old World carvings and fancies.

One earthquake, Tony thought, and the room would be a disaster.

Seated on a plush velour sofa was a woman slightly on the round side of lush, in a pink and green linen pantsuit. She looked over at them, and while her face might have been a bit overly made up, her expression was of genuine pleasure. She rose and came over to Tony, hugging him firmly.

He let her; for all his griping, it felt good, and Tony liked his Aunt Lucy. She gave him one last squeeze, and pulled back, giving him a slightly sad smile on a red, red mouth. "Hey, honey. I guess this is going to be . . . interesting, huh?"

"Yeah," he admitted. She laughed then, a sound sweet and husky and so much like his mother's that Tony bit his lip. Then she looked at Mr. Feinberg.

"Okay. So I, Mrs. Lucy Beresford-Tipton now have my young nephew, Edward Dellarosa visiting for . . . a while."

"That's it in a nutshell," Mr. Feinberg agreed. "For the . . . duration, you're in charge of his care and well-being, his education and day-to-day needs. I have the pertinent information here for his medical care, his enrollment and his . . . trust fund."

Aunt Lucy waved a hand. "Oh forget THAT. I've got plenty. Let the fund accrue until he's ready for college, okay? Ton—Eddie's family; I can cover the expenses."

While the grownups haggled about the money, Tony looked around. Jarvis had disappeared just as quietly as he'd appeared, but there was still a lot to look at, including a cuckoo clock the size of a suitcase, and a stuffed moose head with bizarre marble eyes of bright green.

He hoped things would be okay.

The room that the butler showed him to wasn't quite as bad as Tony was expecting, though it was almost as crowded as the living room and a whole lot smaller than his room at home. The bed had a frilly blue cover, but he could live with that; there was a fireplace, which was nifty, but the mantel was covered with plates in little stands and a vase full of dried flowers. Every shelf in the bookcase held more knicknacks, mostly crystal, though the little desk and dresser were clear at least.

Jarvis crossed the room to open the closet. "Your boxes are here," he said, indicating the neatly stacked containers that filled the space. Glancing around, he raised one brow a fraction. "I will see about putting some of these items in storage for the duration."

Tony glanced at him, but the butler didn't sound like he was afraid Tony would break anything--more like he thought the place was kind of crowded too. "Yeah, that'd be good, I guess."

He crossed to the window to look out. The view was more buildings across the street, and a gray sky--not exactly inspiring, but not too bad. This city would take some getting used to; tall buildings he knew, but these went on _forever,_ and there were no hills in the distance. And everything was gray like the sky.

Tony swallowed hard, and turned back. Jarvis was still standing there. "The bathroom is down the hall on the right," he informed Tony politely. "Mrs. Beresford-Tipton has her own in the master suite, so you will not need to share."

"Nice." Tony brightened a little at that; it wasn't that he was _that_ messy, but his mom could get really touchy about being clean and he bet his aunt was the same way.

Jarvis nodded. "Dinner is served at six. There are snacks in the pantry if you are hungry, and extra linens in the hall closet."

With another nod, he withdrew, closing the door gently behind him. Tony took another look around; the place was overwhelmingly blue, carpet, walls, and bed, but the mattress was fairly springy when he bounced on it and the desk had big drawers.

But Tony didn't feel like sorting out his things. In fact, what he wanted most was to get back on the plane and fly _home,_ but that just wasn't possible.

The lump in his throat, which had been lurking since they'd decided to send him away, swelled. He hadn't cried when his mother had kissed him goodbye, or at his father's hug; he hadn't cried on the plane, or in the car. But now there was no one to see.

Tony rolled over on the bed and buried his face in a pillow, and let the tears come at last.

*** *** ***

Madame Rostov's Dance Academy was small; a corner three-story building tucked between a Big Five Sporting goods store and a bookstore. The outside was brick, and unimposing, but Tony relaxed the minute he and Aunt Lucy stepped inside. He could hear classical music; strains of Coppelia in fact.

The main floor had faded posters of dancers he'd never heard of, along with trophies and plaques in a showcase that served as a counter. Behind it, a girl in a black leotard was chatting on the phone, but she hung up when she saw them. "Here to pick up someone?"

"No, I'm here to enroll my nephew," Aunt Lucy replied, slightly distracted by a stunning photo on the wall of a waif-like dancer caught in mid-grand jeté. Tony noted it was autographed, but he couldn't make out the signature.

"Oh! Um, okay. Has he taken any classes before?" the girl asked, looking him over. Tony held up a duffle bag, and she grinned; he liked that. "Okay then. How many years?"

Aunt Lucy looked at Tony and he sighed. "Six."

The girl behind the counter laughed. "Oh you are going to make Mr. Mike's day! A cavalier right off the street!"

It didn't take long after that, and even though he tried to talk Aunt Lucy into going, she insisted on watching class through the window onto the main studio. Tony hoped once she got bored she'd leave and come pick him up when class was over.

He changed in the boy's locker room, getting into his belt and tights, pulling on the long sleeved black tee shirt and taking a breath before putting on the slippers. They were getting snug, and he scowled a little.

Tony liked ballet. It took a lot of concentration and at the same time, it was all about power and control. Back in California he'd gotten into it because his mother took classes, and being a curious first grader, he was fascinated by how hard she worked to make all that jumping and spinning look so easy.

Her teacher, Alana, thought Tony had potential and enrolled him in the beginner class where he shone. Oh behavior-wise he was always a handful, and he could get frustrated by certain moves, but on the whole everyone, even his bemused father thought he had talent.

"Hey, as long as you still go out for softball or soccer and keep the grades up, it's all right," Howard Stark had sighed. "Just . . . no arabesques in front of company, okay?"

As he'd gotten older, Tony had realized ballet wasn't a guy thing, really, but he liked the precision that it took, and that it made him strong. He needed that, and he knew it, especially when other guys made cracks about how short he was.

And in classes, the girls thought he was great—that part was fun too. Most of them were okay; a few of them were pains in the butt, but it still felt cool to be in a place where everybody knew what it took to be good. Where everybody did the same sorts of warm-ups and stretches and moves.

Where you couldn't fake it, or buy your way to the top.

He made his way out to the main studio, to the tall man in black who stood watching a line of little six year old girls who were struggling with first position; the one on the end actually fell over on her bottom as Tony hid a grin.

"All right, Katie, get up. All dancers fall down once in a while," the man told her gently. "Up we go. Again, ladies--" He turned and looked at Tony, his gaze kind and sharp.

Tony held out a hand. "I'm . . . Eddie Dellarosa. Jill from downstairs told me to come up and introduce myself."

"Michael Francisco; Mr. Mike to our students. Well well, properly attired; let's have you warm up and I'd like to see your repertoire if you're up to it, Mr. Dellarosa," Mr. Mike told him, calmly shaking the proffered hand. Tony nodded and moved to the end of the barre, behind Katie. All the little girls were peeking at him over their shoulders, some wide-eyed, a few giggling. Tony moved to first position, his expression serious.

Quickly the girls followed suit, each one working diligently as the taped music played behind them from the stereo under the windows. Tony relaxed into the melody and moved to the called directions easily, feeling his body respond to the familiar positions.

"All right, very good. Ladies, move to the floor for port de bras; Mr. Dellarosa, petite allegro if you please . . ."

Class went on for forty more minutes, and Tony felt better at the end of it. He'd messed up a few times, but Mr. Mike hadn't done more than comment, "Again, please," letting him have a second chance. By now the little girls had done their révérence and most were packing up. A few were watching him dance, bright-eyed and cute.

Tony wished he had a little sister.

"All right, very good, Mr. Dellarosa," Mr. Mike interrupted his musings. "I would like to see you for the Intermediate division classes, at least two times a week or more, whatever schedule best fits for you. Your moves are clean and your jumps powerful, but I would like to see smoother transitions, and not so much whip-snap in your stops. And you're going to need new slippers."

Tony looked down and blushed; his left big toe was beginning to work through the end of the slipper.

*** *** ***

Warm-up exercises were always kind of boring, but Ginny knew they were important. The routine was familiar, working at the barre, and she went through each motion with care, making sure to hold her limbs at just the right angle. Precision in all things, Mr. Mike always said, and she never forgot. She wanted to be _good. _

"Tendu," her teacher called, and Ginny and all the other girls obeyed, moving in careful coordination. She watched herself and the others in the mirror--ten little girls lined up at the barre, all alike if you didn't look close.

But they weren't sisters. Well, two of them were, the Inoue twins, but even they didn't look alike, because Izumi wore her hair short and Setsuko's was almost to her waist. Ginny's best friend Trish had skin the color of the chocolate Ginny's mom used to make cake frosting, and Ginny herself had orange hair that she hated.

But none of that was important in ballet. What mattered was moving together, precisely, perfectly. Being part of the pattern, and doing it _right. _

Ginny loved ballet.

When warm-ups were over, Mr. Mike clapped his hands, calling the students together in the big studio. "All right, I have a couple of announcements before we move on."

They settled down to listen. Mr. Mike was tall and slender and a very good dancer, and Ginny admired him very much. He was a tough teacher, but if you couldn't do something he would work with you until you could.

He beckoned, and a boy a few years older than Ginny came up from the side of the room. "First, Edward Dellarosa is joining our classes," Mr. Mike said, which made the students murmur to each other. Boy dancers were rarer than girls, and there were only a few younger ones. "He's been studying for...six years?" He glanced down at the new boy, who nodded. "Six, then. Go have a seat, Mr. Dellarosa."

Edward looked around and chose a spot at the edge of the group, but Ginny didn't think it was because he was shy. He had black hair and dark eyes, and he looked...sulky, she decided. _Maybe he really hates ballet._ Some of the boys did, but their parents made them take the classes anyway.

But he sat down gracefully, and Ginny looked back to Mr. Mike. "Second, tryouts for _The Nutcracker _start next week. There are lots of roles to fill, so anyone who wants to audition should, no matter how long you've been dancing."

Ginny felt a thrill, and glanced over at Trish, who grinned at her. They had both been in last year's production of _The Nutcracker,_ dancing as children in the party scene, but Ginny was hoping for a bigger part this year--maybe one of the mice, or a Polichinelle.

"Good." Mr. Mike clapped his hands again. "Up, up--junior division, let's begin. The rest of you, clear the floor."

Most of the dancers left, and Ginny's group gathered together to begin. Ginny focused on Mr. Mike, but she couldn't stop smiling.

_I'm going to try really hard and make Mom and Daddy proud of me. _

After class was over she and Trish changed into street shoes and ran outside, shivering at the cold. It was Ginny's father's turn to pick them up, and so they waited for the station wagon, talking about school and how much they both hated their art teacher.

As they were waiting--Mr. McGann usually got stuck in traffic--they saw a long white car pull up at the curb. Several of the students at the Academy got picked up by limousines, but they didn't recognize this one.

"That's an old one," Trish said curiously. "See, it's got the historical license plate."

The studio door swung open, and the new boy came out, barely glancing at them as he jumped down the steps. He was moving fast as he climbed into the big car, but Ginny got the feeling that he was still not very happy.

"He doesn't have a coat," she said, frowning.

"Maybe he forgot it." Trish watched as the car pulled out into the street and moved away. "If he's rich probably nobody cares if he loses it."

"I guess." Ginny zipped up her own jacket, wondering if he were cold.

The next car to arrive was the McGanns', and the girls piled into the back seat. Ginny's father turned to smile at them. "How was class?"

"They're going to do tryouts for _The Nutcracker!_" Ginny said excitedly.

Her father's eyes crinkled as he smiled wider, but he looked tired. "Going to go for it this year too?"

"Of _course_," Trish said, rolling her eyes, and Mr. McGann chuckled.

"Of course. Belt up, ladies, dinner awaits."

Ginny fastened the buckle and sat back, dreaming of Polichinelles.

Later that night, as she was getting ready for bed, Ginny looked at herself in the mirror, something she did a lot while dancing but almost never at home. It was different when she wasn't trying to hold her shoulders and head right, and she did a slow pirouette, turning her head to watch herself as much as possible.

The room behind her was neat as a pin, with ballet posters up on the walls and a bookcase filled with books, and pink sheets on her very tidy bed. But the figure in the mirror was not as satisfactory.

_I'm so short._ It bothered her a little, she was still wondering if she was ever going to grow. Both Mom and Daddy were tall and thin, which was a good dancer's build, but Ginny still wasn't showing any signs of tallness.

_You'll grow when you grow,_ Mom had told her, tugging gently on one of Ginny's braids. _Wait until you're twelve at least before you start to worry. _

But she couldn't help thinking about it sometimes. Lots of the girls in her class were starting to develop, which wasn't surprising; ever since she'd skipped a grade Ginny had been used to being on the small end of things. Even Trish's mom had started talking about training bras, which always made Trish make a face and ask what she needed to be trained _for,_ but that part of things Ginny was happy to put off. Dancers had to be thin.

She heaved a sigh, and went to brush her teeth.

*** *** ***

New York took some getting used to, Tony admitted. The weather mostly; as a kid from California, it was hard to deal with the change of temperature, and think to grab a jacket when heading out.

Ah, but the proximity! Everything seemed to be right around the corner, unlike LA, where it could take you ten miles to get to the nearest fast food, or grocery. Tony couldn't get over how amazing it was to have the electronics store, hardware place and pizza joint all within walking distance. For the first few weeks, Jarvis accompanied him at Aunt Lucy's insistence, but later, Tony convinced her to let him go around the block alone and reluctantly she did.

"It looks weird for me to have a bodyguard; makes me stand out MORE," Tony told her. "Nobody else walking down the street has one."

"There are more dangers out there than just kidnappers," Aunt Lucy warned, but softened a little. As a lifelong resident of New York, she understood how secure her own neighborhood actually was, and how savvy Tony had become even in his short time with her. "Oh all right honey, but only in daylight, you got it? You have a watch; once it gets dark I want you inside with no argument, capice?"

Tony did; it was reasonable, and he wasn't interested in the nightlife. He took the inch, and plotted quietly for the mile.

*** *** ***

The tryouts were scary. They started on a Saturday morning, because they took all day, and Ginny and Trish got to the school early to warm up and get ready. They weren't the only ones, and the hallways and studios were crowded with dancers of all ages stretching and practicing.

"Do you think we'll get our parts?" Ginny whispered as she and Trish watched some of the older girls at the barre.

"You will," Trish said with confidence. "You're really, really good."

Ginny blushed a little, even though she knew it was true. She had only been dancing for three years, but Mr. Mike said she had a lot of talent, and she could tell that she was just as good as some of the students who had been studying longer. "Well, I think we'll get to be party kids at least."

Trish tilted her head. "Guess we'll see." She had been dancing as long as Ginny, but she wasn't quite as good. It never seemed to bother her, though. Trish thought dancing was fun, and she practiced a lot, but she didn't love it the same way Ginny did.

When it was time to begin, the students were all split up into groups by age, and Madame Rostov came to oversee the auditions. Ginny was a little scared of her; she had been a prima ballerina in Russia for many years, and taught the most advanced students. She was tall and crooked, and her hands were bent with arthritis; she didn't dance anymore, but everybody said she was the best teacher around. Ginny had never seen her smile.

She took a seat at the front of the room to watch as the groups were called out to dance, starting with the youngest. Each group's teacher would have them run through a routine, and then each student was asked to do some steps individually. When they were done, the whole group was dismissed, but almost everybody stayed to watch, crowding around the edges of the big studio.

The junior division came second. Ginny and Trish clutched each other's hands and watched the first group perform. Ginny was so nervous that she could hardly concentrate, but as the girls--there were no boys in that division--went through their steps, she thought that none of them were really good enough to do any of the really complicated roles.

Then it was their turn. Ginny took a deep breath as her division assembled in the middle of the room, lining up neatly in two rows. Mr. Mike stood facing them and gave them all a quick, reassuring smile before drawing himself up. "All right, ladies, let's begin..."

He led them through various movements, and Ginny concentrated hard. Her hands were sweaty with nerves, but the moment they started to dance, she felt calm, as though her body knew exactly what to do.

When it was time for the individual tryouts, Mr. Mike took them alphabetically, so Ginny was seventh. She watched Trish, who was sixth, go out to the middle of the floor, and crossed her fingers.

Trish always had lots of energy when she danced, and Ginny dared to glance at Madame Rostov, but Madame's face didn't change expression at all.

Then it was her turn. She walked out to the center, fixed her eyes on her teacher, and waited. The rest of the room seemed to disappear, and all she heard was Mr. Mike's voice, telling her what to do.

It seemed to take forever, and no time at all, and then Mr. Mike was nodding at her and sending her back to the wall so Susan Perrine could take her place. Ginny realized her heart was beating fast and hard, and she went and leaned against the mirror, putting a hand to her throat.

"You did great," Trish whispered in her ear, and squeezed her hand. Ginny smiled at her. She didn't think she'd messed up, but she couldn't really remember.

"So did you," she whispered back, and meant it.

They stayed to watch the next division. That one had a few boys in it, and Ginny thought it was a little unfair; there were so few boys in the school that most of them were guaranteed to get parts in _Nutcracker_ if they could dance well at all. Some of the roles of boys could be taken by girls, and probably would be, but there were several--most importantly the Nutcracker Prince--that had to be filled by boys.

Still, that was the way it always was. Ginny stood with Trish and they watched. Most of that division was good, mostly better than their own, but that made sense since most of them had been dancing for longer. The new boy--Eddie--was _very_ good, Ginny noticed. But when Mr. Mike called him out to perform individually, it was almost like he was showing off how good he was, and that made her wrinkle her nose.

"He's trying to make it look easy," she whispered to Trish, who giggled.

"Maybe it _is_ easy for him. I heard Mr. Mike say he was a natural."

"Just don't tell _him_ that," Ginny whispered back, though she had the feeling that Eddie knew it already.

They stayed to watch all the auditions, straight up through the seniors, dancers who would soon leave the school. Some already had places in dance companies, and Ginny and Trish were in awe of them all. Tall, graceful, they spun and leapt in steps that the girls knew were years away from their own abilities, and Ginny sighed, wishing she could learn faster.

_Be patient,_ Mr. Mike always told her. _Some things have to wait until your body is stronger._ And she knew he was right, but it was hard.

As the last group left the floor, Ginny glanced at the row of people and the chair where Madame Rostov was sitting, and almost jumped when she saw Madame looking at her.

For a second Ginny was frozen, but then she gathered her courage and smiled at Madame, trying to look respectful. Madame raised her brows very slowly, and then turned away.

Ginny let out her breath in a rush, wondering if she'd offended Madame, but the old woman hadn't changed her expression. Then Trish tugged at her arm. "Let's go," she said, as all around them the watchers stood up. "I'm starving."

"We can get pretzels," Ginny said, and they slipped through the crowd to change clothes and go.

But all day she kept remembering Madame looking at her, and wondered.

*** *** ***

The tryouts for _The Nutcracker_ were almost an afterthought; Tony knew he'd be cast as _some_thing for it. One of the advantages about being a guy in ballet was that you were in demand for almost any production.

He liked Nutcracker; there were enough solos and pas de deux to be a bit of a challenge, and the costumes were more fun than most. Tony had done both the Nutcracker Prince and Herr Drosselmeyer in simpler productions back in California, so he went into the auditions and made it a point to put some flair into it, working to make sure his leaps were good.

Out in the audience he caught sight of an older woman watching, her gaze stern enough to make him hold back a bit, although Mr. Mike was nodding. He made his révérence and walked off, trying not to let the woman's countenance faze him. Instead, Tony tried to guess who would be cast.

The littlest ballerinas—the Giggle Girls as he thought of them—would be children at the party, no problem. There was one boy in the junior division who looked to be about eight and perfect for Fritz, Clara's brother and there was a group of dancers so in synch that they'd be doing the Arabian dance or the Sugar Plum fairies, Tony knew for sure.

Tony looked over the group again and picked out his competition for Nutcracker Prince; a boy about a year older than he was, blonde and thin, with icy blue eyes. Steve, Tony remembered. A pretty good dancer, and taller, of course.

Scowling, Tony looked around, trying to figure out who would be Clara. His gaze swept over the assembled ballerinas, and he zeroed in on the redhead for a moment. A little short, but really graceful. She'd be easy to lift, too, he thought. Like a doll.

He hoped she'd get it; a pretty redhead would be great for the part.

After auditions, Tony got back into his street clothes and made his way to the payphone in the hallway. Jarvis told him he'd be there in fifteen minutes, so Tony spent the time cross-legged on the hall floor, buried in a notebook, writing a little computer code and making a list of stuff to pick up at the hardware store. He didn't notice the shadow looming over him until he looked up and saw Steve standing there, his eyes hard.

"I just wanted to say that I watched you, Dellarosa, and you're _not_ going to get it," Steve announced in a low voice.

Tony stared up at him blandly; no point in showing how pissed he was. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. The only person around here who thinks you're hot shit is you, DellaDouchebag," came the snide comment. "_And_ you're too short."

Before Tony could shoot back a comment, a car outside honked, and Steve strode off, shoulders set in an arrogant swagger. Tony watched him go and growled inwardly.

_He's probably right, the jerkoff,_ Tony sighed to himself, and settled mentally for Herr Drosselmeyer.

Tony hoped he could talk the makeup people into letting him wear a goatee for it; that would be cool.

*** *** ***

School was...not too good. Tony knew public school would be different from the amped-up private place his parents sent him to, and it was never easy coming in after the school year had already started, but he wasn't prepared for the sheer _size_ of it. Not that the building was all that much bigger, but there seemed to be ten times as many kids crammed into it, and the noise level was enough to make him wince. Tony had never realized how _quiet _Freeman Prep was.

It was nice not having to wear a uniform, sure, but that was about all that was cool about the place. The building was ancient, with wonky heating that made the classrooms either freezing or broiling, and the desks and equipment seemed to be left over from forty years prior.

And the classes--at first Tony wasn't sure he could cope. Too many students for the rooms, half of them not paying any attention to the teachers, and when he came out with all the right answers a lot of the ones who _were _paying attention gave him dirty looks. He tried not to care. Tony was used to being one of the smartest kids in the room, if not_ the_ smartest, but usually the rest of the students were at least using their brains too.

The teachers were a mixed bag; some of them knew what they were talking about, a few didn't. Some of them liked him for his smarts, and one or two tried to cut him down. Tony rolled with it as best he could. There was no point in kicking up a fuss, even if he did get a rep as a ditz for not looking up when they got to "Eddie Dellarosa" on the attendance sheet.

The cafeteria was the worst part. Tony stared down at his tray at the start of the second week, not sure that what sat on it could actually be classified as _food._ The Styrofoam platter held a scoop of fake mashed potatoes about the consistency of paste, a handful of unidentifiable brown lumps in a watery substance that he guessed was supposed to be gravy, and an apple that looked like someone had used it as a baseball. Even the too-small sugar cookie looked underbaked.

And none of the other meals he'd had so far had been any better. Even the Friday pizza was pathetic.

With a sigh Tony pitched the entire contents of his tray into the trash and headed for the snack machines, grateful that he had money in his pocket. _I don't care if it's dorky to bring a bag lunch. I can't eat this crap._ If Jarvis wouldn't make him one, he'd do it himself, or just pick something up at a deli each morning. He was getting regular allowance money along with letters from his parents, delivered every Saturday with grave punctuality by Mr. Feinberg, and there was more than enough to cover five lunches a week.

As he fed coins into the machine, though, Tony had to swallow back a wave of misery. _I hate this place. _

_I want to go home. _

The measly package of peanut-butter crackers that dropped into the dispensing tray only seemed to emphasize the dreariness of the whole thing.

*** *** ***

Ginny stared at the cast sheet, hardly able to believe what she saw--her own name, Ginny McGann, right at the top of the sheet. She'd expected to get one of the children's roles, she knew she was good, but not _this. _

Next to her Trish clutched her arm and squealed. _"Clara!_ You got Clara! Gen!"

Ginny felt a big grin stretch her face, and she turned to hug her friend. "I can't believe it!"

"Believe it," said a deep voice behind them, and both girls turned to face Mr. Mike. He was grinning too, but he raised a brow in the stern look they both knew so well. "We're going to work you like you've never been worked, Miss McGann, so don't think it'll be easy."

"I know, Mr. Mike." Hastily Ginny composed herself, trying to appear mature and sensible.

"Good girl." He winked at them both and kept walking, and Ginny spun back around to stare again at the list, still trying to take it in. She'd hoped for a bigger role this year, but she had hardly dared to dream she could take the principal children's role. For one thing, she was still so short even if she was nine--

Trish hugged her again, and bubbled over with glee. "Oh, you'll be the best Clara ever, I know you will!" She peered at the list. "Who's going to be your Prince?"

Ginny hadn't even looked that far. She read further on the list. "Ummm...Steve Graham."

"Stinky Stevie? Ooh, yuck." Trish wrinkled her nose.

Ginny shrugged, trying not to care. "He's an okay dancer." She wished, though, that he hadn't been chosen. Most of the boys in the school were way too old to dance the Nutcracker Prince.

"Yeah, but he's creepy." Trish looked again at the list. "It's too bad Eddie didn't get it."

Ginny bit her lip, thinking. Eddie Dellarosa was, Ginny thought, pretty darn good, but he was still new. "I don't think he's been here long enough."

"Too bad," Trish repeated, giggling. "He's cute, too."

Ginny rolled her eyes. Eddie was kind of cute, when he wasn't scowling, but he was an annoying jerk. "He thinks he's the best at everything. I'd rather dance with Steve."

"Liar liar, pants on fire." Trish poked her, and Ginny poked back, giggling in turn.

"What did you get?" Ginny scanned down the list. "Oh, a Polichinelle! That's good."

"Yeah, that'll be fun! I like the skirt thingie." The Polichinelles came out from under Mother Ginger's huge skirt, and that entrance had always fascinated Trish.

Ginny looked at her, a little uncertain. She had assumed that they would probably get the same roles, and be able to practice and rehearse together. "It's going to be kinda weird, not dancing with you."

"Yeah, I guess so." Trish sighed, but then grinned again. "I'll watch you from the wings, and make faces. Maybe I can crack you up."

"Yeah, right." Ginny laughed. "Besides, in Act II I get to watch _you_." She shoved her friend, and Trish shoved back, and they went off to class excited.

After class, Mr. Mike had them sit down again, and explained the schedule for rehearsals. "Since everyone has other things to do besides dance--shame on you--" He waited for the laughter to die down. "--Classes will only be held for those not dancing in _Nutcracker _this year. All the performers will use class time to learn their parts instead, and yes, if you had the same role last year, you still need to come to rehearsal."

He looked stern at the groans, though Ginny knew he was mostly kidding. "As we get closer to mid-December, rehearsal times will increase, so remember to plan for that. There are schedules out by the phones, so make sure to pick one up when you leave."

He clapped his hands. "Dismissed! Miss McGann, stay for a minute, I need to talk to you."

As they all scrambled up, Ginny glanced at her friend. It was Trish's mom's turn to pick them up, and she was usually in a hurry. But Trish gave her a thumbs-up.

"Don't worry. She's gonna be thrilled that we got our parts, she'll wait."

Ginny nodded, and went to Mr. Mike. He waved her over to the barre wall, and bent his head to look at her. "I know you're excited to have the part, Miss McGann, and I'll tell you straight out that Madame Rostov and I both think you'll do a wonderful job with it."

That made Ginny blush with pleasure, but Mr. Mike wasn't finished. "But I need to know if you really think you can handle the hours it will take. You and Mr. Graham will be dancing more than anyone else in your age group, and it's going to be pretty intense. You'll have homework, too, don't forget."

Ginny raised her chin and looked straight back at him. "Yes, I can do it." Her homework was usually pretty easy, and she was used to doing it right away so she would have more time for dancing.

Mr. Mike nodded slowly. "All right, then. Tell your parents to call me if they have any questions, okay?"

Ginny nodded, and he smiled. "Good. Go on then, and don't forget to take a schedule with you."

She smiled back and ran out, snatching up a flyer as she passed the phones and wondering suddenly if smiling at Madame had made a difference.

When she got home, Ginny ran to the kitchen, doing a couple of jetés just for sheer joy. "Mom! Mommy! I got Clara!"

Her mother, standing at the sink, turned with a wide smile and held out her arms. "That's wonderful, sweetie!"

Ginny pirouetted into the hug, and they laughed together. Her mom had danced when she was little, too, but then had switched to cheerleading instead. Ginny couldn't imagine wanting to do that, but at least it meant she had someone to talk to who understood dancing. Trish's whole family was into soccer.

Ginny laughed up at her mother. "Where's Daddy?"

Mrs. McGann's smile faded a little. "He's lying down for a while. Let him sleep; you can tell him at dinner, okay?"

"Okay." It was more fun to tell it twice anyway.

Ginny gave her mother the flyer and went to hang up her jacket, returning to the kitchen to scrape carrots for supper. "Is Daddy feeling sick again?" she asked as the orange curls dropped into the sink. He had been very sick a couple of years ago, but he'd gotten better.

"I think he's just tired," her mom said, opening the oven to check on the casserole. "Winter makes him slow down, you know."

"Yeah." Ginny snapped off a bit of carrot to munch. "Oh, Mr. Mike said to tell you to call him if you have any questions about _Nutcracker_. He said it's going to be a lot of work."

Mrs. McGann regarded Ginny for a moment, smiling, then smoothed a hand over her daughter's hair. "I'll remember that, but I think as long as you keep up with your homework we won't have any problems."

Ginny smiled back, and kept peeling carrots. She liked school, and even being a grade ahead didn't make things very hard. Math was her favorite subject, and she usually got As and Bs on her report cards, even when she was taking three or four dance classes each week. Daddy warned her that it would get harder later, but Ginny wasn't ready to worry about high school yet.

When dinner was ready, Mrs. McGann sent Ginny in to wake her father. He was lying on top of the bedspread on her parents' bed, wrapped up in a sweater, and Ginny slid onto the bed next to him to hug him awake, which is what she always did. He was bony but good to hug, and when she squeezed he sighed and growled and opened his eyes, hugging her back. "What's up, Tangerine?"

It was her private nickname, based on her hair, and he was the only one who was allowed to call her that. Ginny grinned into his shoulder. "I get to dance Clara in _Nutcracker._"

Mr. McGann laughed, low and contented. "Oh, I knew you could do it." He squeezed her tighter, and Ginny squeaked.

"You did not! I thought for sure Celia Barricelli would get it!" She lifted her head to look him in the eye.

He just smiled at her. "You dance better."

Ginny giggled. "Dinner's ready." She sat up out of his hug and bounced off the bed, and Mr. McGann followed more slowly. He still looked tired, Ginny noticed, but she figured he was hungry.

At dinner they all talked about _The Nutcracker _and scheduling. "Picking you up could get tricky," Mrs. McGann said, frowning a little in thought. "We're going to go on standby shifts soon for the holiday, and we might not always be available." Both of the McGanns worked at a hospital, and it always got busier around Christmas; and they only had one car.

"That's true," her husband said, raising his brows. "And we can't expect Angie to do all the driving."

Ginny knew they were right; Mrs. Louis was pretty busy. "Maybe we could take the subway sometimes," she proposed. "I mean, it would be me and Trish most of the time anyway, and she's almost ten. And we wouldn't be stupid."

Her parents exchanged glances. "That's an idea," Mrs. McGann said neutrally, and Ginny understood what that meant--they would have to discuss it with each other before they made up their minds. "We'd have to talk to Angie first anyway."

Ginny nodded, and ate another bite of casserole. She wasn't worried about making the rehearsals; Mom and Daddy had always helped her dance, no matter what. But sometimes it did take up a lot of time.

She decided to pick up some bus schedules tomorrow and see if that would help.

*** *** ***

He saw the cast list posted at last, and even though Tony had geared himself up for losing the role, it still galled him to see Steve's name listed there for the Nutcracker Prince.

At least he was understudy for the part, so he'd made a good impression to some degree. Tony scanned the list, not sure of people's names yet, but he smirked when he saw little Katie listed as one of the children at the party, and he hoped she could keep her balance.

There he was for the Herr, just has he predicted; Tony began thinking of how to jazz up the role. As he stood there, lost in thought, a soft pat on his arm jolted him, and he looked to see the redhead timidly smiling at him.

"You'll be a really good Drosselmeyer," she told him in a soft little voice, and then she darted off, backpack bouncing on one thin shoulder as she scooted towards the girl's dressing room.

Tony smiled to himself.

*** *** ***

Rehearsals were broken into blocks and acts, and Tony found himself with the first act crowd in the big studio as Mr. Mike began blocking out the dances. He watched the littler kids following directions, occasionally messing around only to be herded back into formation by Mr. Mike's assistant, Jill, who was pretty patient.

The redhead was there; Ginny, along with the kid playing her brother, and the two older students playing the parents. Most of the school seemed to know each other pretty well and he understood that; it had been the same way for him and his group back in California. Here, though, a few of them did make it a point to talk to him, and Tony appreciated that, even if he wasn't too friendly himself.

It was tough. He'd been warned by both Mr. Feinberg and Aunt Lucy about talking too much, and Tony himself was a little shy, despite his dancing confidence. He listened to Mr. Mike, and positioned himself for his entrance, trying to be patient. The music cue came, and he darted out . . .

Only to collide with Katie, who promptly landed on her bottom again, looking up at him with wide, startled eyes. Tony circled around her and slipped his hands under her armpits, lifting her up as Mr. Mike hid a laugh by clearing his throat. "Oh dear, are you all right, Katie?"

"Yeth," she nodded, still looking at Tony, who stood beside her. The rest of the line of children were off on the right side of the main studio, watching curiously; a few were giggling.

Mr. Mike cocked his head. "That's good. You need to keep your eyes on Misha and Lien next to you, Katie, and when everyone starts to move, go with them so you don't get run over, all right?"

He waved for everyone to return to their original places; as they did, Tony bent down and whispered to her, "Hey Katie, beep, beep; Drosselmeyer coming through!"

She snorted a giggle in her chubby hands, and looked at him. "Okay!"

The next run-through went much more smoothly, and Tony enjoyed the chance to weave around the little ballerinas and pretend to hand them presents. Mr. Mike spoke over the music to them all. "Eddie will be handing you things, and when we move across the stage there will be a basket behind the curtain to put them in so we can use them again next time. Right now, we're just pretending---"

After a good half hour of practice, Mr. Mike dismissed the children and beckoned Tony, Ginny and Phillip, the boy playing her brother, forward. "Now that you three are sufficiently warmed up, let's try the Nutcracker toy scene. Ginny, do you remember the routine I wanted you to do, starting from downstage left and crossing with Phillip mid-stage?"

She nodded confidently. Tony took his place on the right side, waiting for his entrance as Mr. Mike cued up the music. After the first few beats, Ginny did a beautiful set of pirouettes, moving diagonally and landing on her mark as Phillip managed a few clunky pas de chat jumps, looking more as if he were stomping in puddles than dancing.

Tony tried not to laugh. In reality, the stomping was much more in character for Clara's brother, but it wasn't dancing.

"Mis-ter Gerard, what was _that?_" came the chide. "A little more gracefully, please. Again."

Ginny and Phillip moved back to their starting positions and ran the segment again, with better results. Mr. Mike nodded to continue, and Tony leaped out, moving easily between Ginny and Phillip, concentrating on his footwork. He turned to Ginny and they did a small side by side chaine, perfectly in-step on the first try. He repeated it with Phillip, but the boy was a second behind and the move looked awkward.

"Gentlemen, let's try the chaine again. Phillip, follow Eddie's lead—"

The second try went more smoothly, and Mr. Mike called for a break as he re-cued the music. Tony walked a bit to keep his muscles loose, and found himself pacing with Ginny. She was humming to herself, and he understood why: it was easier to concentrate that way. He nodded to her and swung his arms a little to keep loose.

Mr. Mike struggled a little with the cassette, and Tony stepped over to help him, by sticking a pinkie in one of the cassette holes to rewind it a bit and pick up the slack tape that was wobbling out of the spool.

"Thank goodness we'll be using a pianist in the next few rehearsals," Mr. Mike murmured, adding, "Thank you, Eddie."

Tony nodded and moved back to the center of the studio; Ginny came over and set herself next to him once more.

"Now, remember you are Clara's uncle and fond of her," Mr. Mike pointed out. "Part of what you have to convey is just that fact."

"How?" Tony asked, looking over at Ginny, who was slightly pink.

Mr. Mike cocked his head, then motioned for Tony to step back. Moving in, Mr. Mike stood next to Ginny, softly murmuring, "All right, Miss McGann, Let's try the chaine again, and at the end, look up at me, arms in first position. Begin—"

Moving lightly, Ginny and Mr. Mike did the chaine together; she looked up at him, arms down, eyes bright. He did an exaggerated head tilt and patted the top of her head. Ginny bit back a giggle; it was funny to see her teacher actually dancing, even though she knew he was very good.

"Pat her head?" Tony asked, grinning a bit himself. Next to him, Phillip was bouncing on his toes.

Mr. Mike nodded. "A simple gesture, but make large so that even the back row can see it. If the two of you were a bit older, I might consider a lift, but for now,_ this_ will do nicely to project the relationship. Shall we try it?"

Ginny and Tony got into position; Phillip looked at Mr. Mike. "Do I have to get petted on the head too?"

"Good question," Mr. Mike replied thoughtfully. "Maybe at the end of your chaine together, Eddie can honk your nose."

"Hey!" Phillip protested, but Tony grinned.

"I'll be gentle. I won't break it off, I promise."

Phillip scowled, but a clap of Mr. Mike's hands got them all ready to try a run through. He cued the music and played it. Tony and Ginny did the chaine and he patted her exaggeratedly, then she stayed in position while Tony did the second chaine with Phillip and pretended to tweak his nose. Phillip snorted a giggle, and Mr. Mike sighed.

"Mr. Gerard----"

"It tickled," Phillip cheerfully admitted. "And his fingers smell like chalk."

"Be that as it may, the gestures work well," Mr. Mike decided. "Both of them. Let's take this once again, from right before Herr Drosselmeyer's entrance . . . ."

When they were dismissed, Phillip scooted out at high speed. Tony and Ginny followed more slowly; his legs were longer, and he got to the studio door first, holding it open for the girl to pass through. The hall outside was empty, Phillip already gone, and they paused to look at each other.

"You're really good," Ginny said judiciously, brushing a wisp of loosened hair from her forehead.

"Yeah, well, so are you." Tony stretched his arms over his head. "This is gonna be fun, I think."

Ginny smiled. "Maybe."

Tony dropped his arms and looked at her consideringly. "How old are you anyway?" She was short, but she didn't sound like a third-grader.

She raised her chin. "Nine."

"Wow, I thought you were older." Tony grinned at her.

"I'm in fifth grade," Ginny answered with pride. "I skipped one."

"Me too." Tony grimaced, hit with a sudden pang of homesickness. "Man, I miss my old school."

"Where did you go to school before?" she asked, and Tony wanted to smack himself. _You're not supposed to talk about where you come from, dummy, remember? _

"Somewhere else. Look, I gotta go. See you next time."

He jogged off down the hall, taking refuge in the boys' locker room and ignoring Phillip as the younger boy darted past on his way out. _Stupid. Be more careful._

He didn't really think the bad guys were going to find him in the middle of New York City, but running off at the mouth was a bad habit anyway. Scowling, Tony grabbed up his duffel and went to change.

*** *** ***

Rehearsals were fun at first. Ginny was glad she had already learned the party children's pieces last year, though of course she would need to practice with the others and remember, because there was so much more to learn. Mr. Mike held special single rehearsals for her, teaching her the rest of the role, and Ginny studied them hard. When she wasn't practicing at home or doing homework, she watched tapes of other _Nutcracker_ performances to see how Clara was danced.

"Be careful with those," Mr. Mike warned her. "It's good to know the variations, but don't get them mixed up into your choreography."

Ginny made sure she didn't. Working with Mr. Mike was a privilege, and she paid close attention, trying to imprint the steps into her muscles as well as her mind.

But all too soon, she had to start rehearsing with her Prince.

Stinky Stevie wasn't actually smelly, she had to admit--no more than any other dancer, anyway. But he was mean. He liked to scare the youngest dancers and then laugh at them, and he sometimes shoved the other boys in his division around, because he was taller. Ginny thought he was probably one of those boys who really didn't like dancing, even though he was pretty good at it.

They didn't actually have a lot of dancing together, but it was not going to be fun, Ginny realized with dismay. Steven was supposed to act like her knight, but she got the feeling he was annoyed at having to dance with her, and she never felt secure when he was supporting her.

She didn't want to complain. Steven had danced the role of the Prince the year before too, and he was a more experienced dancer--though only by a year or so, Ginny reminded herself stubbornly.

Mr. Mike seemed to sense it too. "Mr. Graham, you are dancing the role of a prince. You need to act like one," he told Steven, who flushed. "Clara is not your despised younger sister, she is your lady. The audience is going to pick up every emotion you express, so you need to make them believe."

Steven nodded obediently, but when he turned back to Ginny he was scowling. "At least Francie was cute," he said under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. "Maybe they can get you a wig."

Ginny flinched. Francie had danced Clara last year, and she had curly blonde hair and a sweet face. And she was_ tall. _

The only reason Francie wasn't dancing Clara this year, Ginny thought glumly, was because she had moved to Boston over the summer.

_But it's me this year, and I'm going to do it right. Stinky Stevie or not. _

So she danced, and Mr. Mike smiled at her, and that made her feel better. Clara was the focus of the first act, and whether Steven liked it or not, she was the one who had to make the story work.

Orange hair and all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Marvel Comics, Fairview Entertainment, Dark Blades Films, and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All others belong to us, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask us first. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Last year ****Cincoflex**** and I had a really great idea. Due to NaNoWriMo and other considerations, it didn't get finished until now. I'm going to be boastful and say...I think it was worth the wait. *grin* It is always a privilege and a pleasure to write with such a talented, warm-hearted author, who very generously let me have my own way in almost every point in this story. Thank you, love. -- VRTrakowski**

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Ginny finished warming up and looked around, worried. Her fourth rehearsal with Steven was due to begin at five, and it was five-twenty and he was nowhere to be seen. _This is bad. _

Tardiness was one of the biggest sins at Madame Rostov's. You got to class on time, or you were banished to the barre while everyone else worked, and you had to apologize afterwards. And if you were too late, you just got sent home.

But there was no sign of Steven, and Ginny bit her lip, looking at Mr. Mike. He was glancing at his watch with the impassive expression that meant he was mad, though when he looked up he gave her a quick smile.

"Was it snowing when you came in, Miss McGann?" he asked.

"No sir," Ginny answered. Bad weather was about the only legitimate excuse for being late that the Academy allowed, and the first snowstorm of the year usually snarled traffic something awful. But while the skies had been heavy, there had been no snow.

"All right." Mr. Mike ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to make a quick phone call. Work on your port de bras for the moment, and no slacking while my back is turned."

Ginny grinned at him, and he hurried out. She knew he was teasing.

Turning to the mirror, she obeyed, concentrating on getting the angle of her head and shoulders and arms just right. As Mr. Mike said, she had to express a whole range of emotion in her role, everything from delight to dismay to fear to courage.

But she kept wondering what was keeping Steven. He didn't like dancing with her, and sometimes he could be a little mouthy to the teachers, but he wasn't the type to be late.

As she moved, Ginny felt a soft pop across the top of her right foot, and looked down to see that her elastic had come loose. Sighing, she lowered her arms and bent to pull off her slipper.

Then she laughed, because of course in the ballet Clara yanked off her slipper to hurl at the Mouse King.

Ginny examined the elastic. It had pulled free of its stitching entirely, so she ran to the studio door and down the hall towards the girls' locker room. She'd only be gone a moment, and Mr. Mike knew she wasn't the type to wander off.

As she passed the offices on the way, though, she heard his voice coming from a half-open door. "Mrs. Graham, he has a _commitment_--"

He sounded really, really mad. Ginny froze for a second, listening despite herself as Mr. Mike went on. "I understand that, but we're already into rehearsals--no, it's not, but--"

Whatever was going on, it didn't sound good. Ginny kept going, running lightly so her feet made no sound, and swung into the locker room to get her spare pair of slippers from her bag.

When she came back along the hall, she couldn't hear anything else, but Mr. Mike still wasn't back in the studio. Ginny let out a breath to settle herself, and went back to port de bras, wondering what had happened.

It took about four more minutes for Mr. Mike to return, and then he waited to speak until she had finished her run-through. "Very good," he said, still looking annoyed, but not quite as much as before. "My apologies for the delay, Miss McGann."

"Is Steven coming, sir?" Ginny asked.

Mr. Mike heaved a sigh. "He is not. It appears that the Grahams are going to Barbados for the holiday."

Ginny felt her mouth fall open. It was _very_ bad manners to accept a role and then back out--though Steven might not have known about the trip, she supposed.

"Yes," Mr. Mike said, smiling a little grimly. "I don't think Mr. Graham will be returning to the Academy at all. Though that's not for general consumption, please, Miss McGann." He raised a brow, and Ginny nodded quickly.

Mr. Mike relaxed, smiling more warmly this time. "I know I can trust you to be discreet. We'll have to announce it soon anyway." He pursed his lips. "I've already called Mr. Dellarosa, but given the hour we will simply continue with a solo rehearsal for you and pick up with him on Wednesday."

Ginny blinked. She'd almost forgotten that Eddie Dellarosa was understudy for the Prince, and for a minute she was sorry, because he really would make a wonderful Drosselmeyer. "Will he be able to catch up, sir?"

Mr. Mike raised a brow. "He should be fine; he's had the role before, though in simpler productions is my understanding." He clapped his hands, clear indication that conversation was over and dance was beginning. "Let's go over the clock scene again, please."

Ginny obeyed, wondering how it would be to dance with Eddie. But in her heart, she had to admit, she was relieved that Steven was gone.

*** *** ***

Tony was in his room, rooting around in _Principles of Electronics_ for a particular circuit diagram when Jarvis appeared at the door and cleared his throat. "You are wanted on the telephone, Mr. Dellarosa."

"Thanks," Tony muttered, using a sock as a bookmark and sliding off the bed. He ambled out into the hallway and towards the living room, scooping up the receiver from the phone on the little table by the sofa. "Hello?"

"Mr. Dellarosa, I have some . . . fortunate news for you," came Mr. Mike's voice over the line. Tony frowned, since the man's voice sounded strained.

"Yes sir?"

"Due to an ill-scheduled vacation, our principal, Mr. Graham will not be available to fulfill his obligations to our production, and therefore _you_ will be dancing the role of the Nutcracker Prince."

"Whoah," was all Tony could manage for a moment, blinking.

Mr. Mike spoke again, his voice slightly weary. "May I count on your full participation, Eddie? I know it means a more intense rehearsal schedule for you, but this change of cast was completely unforeseen."

Tony drew in a breath. "Yes sir, thank you. Um, I didn't have an understudy for _my_ part though."

"Jill will fill in," Mr. Mike told him. "She's been in several productions and I can fill her in from the notes, so we will still have a Herr Drosselmeyer, although without the flair of our previous one."

The compliment made Tony blush; he stammered a little. "T-thank you. When do you need me for rehearsal?" he looked around the living room, trying to focus on the cuckoo clock with the Roman numerals.

"Tomorrow is soon enough. You'll need to see Mrs. Manouf for costume measurements beforehand. And Eddie, thank you. I appreciate your commitment to this production more than I can express right now."

"You're welcome," Tony replied softly. "Does Ginny know?"

"She is about to. I will inform the rest of the company tomorrow of the changes. Again, thank you, Mr. Dellarosa. Tomorrow at four, sharp."

Tony hung up and stared at the phone a moment longer, then broke into a huge grin. He spun in a delighted fouetté en tournant in his bare feet, narrowly missing a side table laden with a Lalique glass bowl on it before thinking better of his exuberance.

"Aunt Lucy!" he called, bounding through the apartment towards the kitchen, "Hey Aunt Lucy, guess what?!"

*** *** ***

Zolie Manouf was a small lady with a mouthful of pins and the most expressive eyebrows Tony had ever seen. Since they had to do a lot of talking for her, he watched her face and followed directives by sight. A waggle and nod to one side meant 'turn this way'; a quick scowl meant 'stand still' and a sudden surprised-looking rise of both brows meant 'there! We are done.'

He held still as Mrs. Manouf measured his shoulders and height and most embarrassingly his inseam, her small, bird-like hands moving confidently. When the numbers were jotted down next to his initials on her notepad, she made Tony turn around and stared carefully into his face. She took the pins out of her mouth and smiled.

"You have very nice skin for a boy, Edward, and such lovely eyes! Soon the girls will swoon for you!"

He blushed fiercely, not sure what to say; yes, it was a compliment, but it didn't seem right to say 'thank you.'

Mrs. Manouf, however, didn't seem to worry, and held up pieces of cloth under his chin, debating between blue and green. She settled on the green, and put it into the notebook. "All right, I think we will have a green nutcracker with red leggings this year. Very festive, eh?"

That was safer and Tony nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Mrs. Manouf continued, her voice soft. "I already did some prelim work on the Prince costume for that _other_ boy, but I think with a little hemming it will be fine. Better on you, in fact."

Tony nodded again; Mrs. Manouf motioned for him to hold out his arms at his sides. "At least _your_ head will fit into the papier mâché one, eh?"

That made him grin, and seeing it, Mrs. Manouf smiled herself. "Good! A dancer with dimples will _always_ win the audience. Come back before next rehearsal and there should be a jacket for you by then."

Tony left the little costume office and made his way to the main studio, following the sound of chatter and music. When he walked in, Katie ran over to him and held out a hand for a high-five, which for Tony was about waist level. She grinned up at him, revealing no front teeth. "Mr. Mike says you got changed!"

"Yep."

"Good," Katie told him. "You are the goodest jetter."

Tony figured out she meant jété, and smiled. "Thank you."

"We get pizza tonight if we do good," the little girl went on, clearly excited. "For _everybody!_" this seemed almost too much for her to take in, and she spun around at the thought then raced away again to join the other girls amid the crowd of dancers milling around.

Mr. Mike clapped for attention, and the room quickly went quiet; he spoke in a low, firm voice. "Thank you so much for being here on time, everyone. I have a few quick cast changes to make, so here they are. Due to a schedule conflict, Mr. Graham will not be in our production of the Nutcracker this season. Instead, Mr. Dellarosa will be dancing as our principal, and our own Miss Jill will take his part as Herr Drosselmeyer."

There was a sudden shift of attention to Tony, and he gave a small wave; Katie clapped and several others followed her lead. Mr. Mike smiled, but cleared his throat and spoke up again. "That was kind of you, and I would like to see that spirit kept up for the rest of the production because we are going to _work_ tonight. Miss Jill will take the first Act company here in the main studio, and I would like Miss McGann and Mr. Dellarosa up in the B studio please. We will be working straight through to six-thirty, so take your bathroom breaks now, please."

People began to move more purposefully now, and Tony spotted Ginny heading for the door. He fell in step beside her, nodding when she nodded to him. Studio B was much smaller than the one downstairs, and colder. Ginny turned on the lights and rubbed her arms, glad she'd warmed up.

She watched as her partner moved to the barre and began to stretch, moving easily, concentrating. Not wanting to get in his way, Ginny stepped to the center of the floor and did a few quick jumps in place.

"You can jump higher."

Ginny looked over at Eddie, who was moving from leg stretches to arm ones. He was trying to look perfectly innocent, but she could tell he was waiting to see what she'd say. She lifted her nose a little and ignored him.

They both kept working, and then---"You can. I've _seen_ you jump higher."

"It's not about how _high _Eddie. It's about how graceful," Ginny finally told him.

"Why not both?"

"Huh?" She stopped and looked at him, a little afraid, but also a little mad. Was he going to be as bad as Steve?, she wondered.

Eddie tipped his head and looked at her. "Remember what Mr. Mike said about making things big? When we were doing the part with me as Drosselmeyer patting your head?"

She nodded, remembering it well. Eddie went on. "Well, he said we had to do things big so the audience could see it. And if you do little jumps, it's okay, but if you do BIG ones, you'll really have them looking!"

Ginny frowned. "But I don't _want_ to do big ones. I want to do _good_ ones. I want to be perfect."

For a moment Eddie looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he closed his mouth and nodded. It surprised Ginny, and to cover her confusion she returned to her jumps, concentrating until Mr. Mike came in. He was followed by Señora Lopez, one of the pianists. She took her place at the battered upright in the corner as Mr. Mike motioned to Ginny and Eddie. They lined up in front of him; he was wearing his thoughtful frown, Ginny noticed.

"Normally," Mr. Mike said slowly, "I would start with your first transformation, Mr. Dellarosa, and we would take things in order. But I want to see how you two work together, so tonight we will begin with the post-battle pas de deux." He pushed forward the bench that substituted for the couch she would "faint" onto, and Ginny lay down on it, Eddie finding his mark opposite her. "So, the Nutcracker has just become the prince. Let's begin."

Señora Lopez started to play. Ginny looked at Eddie; his scowl was gone, replaced by concentration, and she closed her eyes to simulate unconsciousness.

His first move was to wake her with a hand on her shoulder, and right away Ginny knew he would be better to work with. Half the time Steven had pinched her, but Eddie's hand was gentle, and she sat up and rubbed her eyes, then opened them in pretend surprise at his appearance.

The first part of their duet called for him to approach her and Ginny to dance away as if shy, and secretly she thought it was a bit silly, because if she'd just been rescued from giant mice by someone, at least she would say thank you. But that wasn't the story, so she slid away from Eddie each time he approached, trying to convey bashfulness.

Mr. Mike stopped them every so often, correcting them or explaining some detail. Eddie paid attention to him, Ginny was glad to see. And to her--he was almost dancing at her, she realized, making her his focus. It was such a difference that she found herself smiling at him as she came out of a fouetté, and he blinked and smiled back, looking a little surprised.

When she had to lean into his arms Ginny didn't hesitate. He was shorter, she had to bend lower, but he was steady and solid, and she wasn't afraid to trust her weight to him. He grinned briefly at her as she straightened again, and Ginny wondered abruptly what he was thinking.

When rehearsal was over Ginny was worn out, and she could see sweat on Eddie's forehead just before he wiped it away with his sleeve. Mr. Mike smiled on them both. "Very good," he said cheerfully. "You will both need to work hard, but you knew that already, and you work very well together. I get the feeling that this will be an exceptional performance."

Ginny blushed at his praise, and Eddie grinned again, though his cheeks were a little pink as well. "Are you sure about lifts?" he asked, a bit cocky. "She's nothing but bones--it would be easy."

"Hey." Ginny frowned at him, and Mr. Mike humphed.

"You're both too young. And before you say it, Mr. Dellarosa, it has nothing to do with your height--I would not have permitted Mr. Graham to lift anyone either." His eyes flicked to the side as he said it, however, and Ginny suddenly wondered if age was the reason for Steven too.

Mr. Mike went on. "You both have a copy of the rehearsal schedule, so be on time and we'll make progress."

He clapped his hands, and they both made their révérence to him and to Señora Lopez before leaving for the locker rooms.

*** *** ***

Tony found a note taped to his duffle, and unfolded it curiously. It was in Jill's neat handwriting. _Eddie--Gervase called. Car is not working; take subway home. Call when you leave._

It took him a minute to figure out who "Gervase" was supposed to be. _Cool_. Tony crumpled the paper and tossed it into the nearest trash can, grinning as it slotted neatly into the receptacle. He'd been on the subway several times with Jarvis or Aunt Lucy, but never alone, and this was a great opportunity to show that he knew what he was doing.

After all, he'd already memorized the subway map.

Calling Aunt Lucy's only took a moment, and Jarvis cautioned him gravely about staying alert on the subway. Tony promised to be careful, and half-ran out of the studio, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

The nearest station wasn't far, and the crowd was fairly thin, given that it was past rush hour. Tony waited for the next train, squinting at the graffiti on the far side of the tracks and trying to make out the words.

A half-familiar giggle broke his concentration, and Tony glanced over to see Ginny and Trish. They were huddled together like girls did, talking fast, and as he watched Ginny gestured, sending them both into fresh giggles.

It made him want to smile. They weren't cute the way Katie was, or mysterious like the older girls, but they sounded happy. It was interesting to see Ginny outside the studio, too--she was always serious when she danced, concentrating hard, but right now she looked like any other kid.

Both of them looked up as the train arrived, but they didn't see him, and on impulse Tony followed them into the car, collapsing into a seat since there were open ones. Ginny and Trish sat down too, and as the train jerked into motion they squirmed around to face each other across their seats. It was hard to hear them over the roar and clatter, but he thought Trish said "Miss Susie?"

Ginny held up both hands, palms out, and to Tony's surprise they began a fast clapping pattern, chanting together. Their hands moved so quickly that he almost couldn't follow the pattern, and the words of the rhyme made him laugh, because they were almost dirty. He'd never seen kids do something like that before, and it was pretty neat.

The girls kept going, faster and faster, and then suddenly finished with a flourish, interlacing their fingers on the last clap and leaning their foreheads together to giggle some more. Curious, Tony got up and wandered down to their seats. "Hey, where'd you learn to do that?"

Both of them sat up straight, the laughter disappearing, but then Ginny smiled. "Oh, hi Eddie."

Her friend smiled too, looking up at him. "My sister taught me, and I taught Gen." She nudged Ginny, who merely shoved her back. "What happened to your limo?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "That's _rude_, Trish."

Tony grinned and sat down one seat past them, swinging his duffle to his back. "'D rather take the subway. Nobody breathing down my neck, you know?"

That made them both giggle again, and then Trish started explaining clapping rhymes to him. Ginny let her do most of the talking, though she would interrupt every so often, and then they started demonstrating different claps for him. It was pretty cool, actually--they made it look easy, but he could tell it took a lot of practice to get that fast.

They were almost to his stop when Ginny glanced past him down the length of the car, her smile disappearing. She looked quickly away, grabbing Trish's elbow and leaning in a bit. "It's the Creepy Guy," she hissed.

Trish's smile vanished too, and Ginny squeezed her arm. "Don't look!"

Tony stiffened. "Who's the Creepy Guy?" he demanded.

Ginny grimaced. "He's a weirdo. He likes to follow us from the station back to our block."

"He gets close and then he...says things," Trish said, looking actually frightened. "Dirty things."

That made him mad, right there. Nobody should scare little girls who had to walk home in the dark alone, especially not jerkoffs with dirty mouths. Tony slipped the strap of his duffle off his arm, tipping it so that the next lurch of the train knocked it off onto the floor. Rising to pick it back up, he glanced the way Ginny had been looking, spotting the guy right away. He was kind of scruffy, and he was watching the girls with a funny little grin on his face.

Tony slung his bag back over his shoulder and sat back down. "I'll walk home with you."

Ginny blinked, and for a second he thought she might argue, but Trish looked relieved. "Really? Oh wow, thank you!"

Ginny bit her lip, then looked up at him. "That's...really nice of you," she said seriously. "Thanks."

Tony grinned down at her, feeling like he was miles older than them. "No big deal." He wasn't quite sure how he was going to explain the delay to Aunt Lucy, but he kind of had a feeling that she wouldn't be too mad if he told her why.

So he stayed on the train past his stop, and the three of them talked about dancing while Creepy Guy kept his distance. Tony glanced at his watch at one point, trying to figure out how much time he had before Aunt Lucy freaked out, but either way he wasn't going to back out of the deal.

Creepy Guy followed them up out of the girls' station, but he hung back almost a whole block; Tony checked a couple of times, trying to keep it casual. Ginny and Trish kept talking--in fact, Tony was starting to think that Trish never shut up--but he didn't mind. It was cheerful, and both girls were pretty smart for nine.

Their neighborhood wasn't as high-class as Aunt Lucy's, not by a long shot, but it wasn't bad, he thought. The stores had bars on the windows, but none of them looked trashed, and none of the apartment buildings had broken doors or windows.

When the girls stopped in front of one building, Tony glanced back, but Creepy Guy was gone. Probably gave up, he thought with satisfaction.

Someone called Trish's name from a window two stories up, and she got a guilty look. "Gotta go, thank you Eddie, see you tomorrow Gen," she said fast, and ran up the steps and inside. Ginny giggled.

"She forgot to clean the gerbil cage again, I bet," she said. Standing on the first step, she was still a little shorter than Tony. "Thanks for walking us home."

"No big deal," he said again, and frowned a little. "Why do you guys go by yourselves if he shows up?"

Ginny looked frustrated. "My parents have to work a lot, and Trish's mom can't always come pick us up. If we told them--" She turned her hands up gracefully, and Tony knew what she meant.

Tell the parents, and never get to go anywhere alone again. They might even have to stop dancing.

"You know, you could probably kick him pretty good," he said thoughtfully. "Like a quick rond de jambe to the crotch."

Ginny's eyes widened, and when Tony grinned she burst into laughter. He almost leaned over and ruffled her hair, but then remembered how much he hated it when adults did it to him. "See you next rehearsal?"

"Yeah." Her smile was really sweet. She gave him a little wave and bounced up the steps. Eddie watched until the door closed after her, and then turned around and headed back towards the station, humming.

He spotted a public phone at the end of the block, so he stopped and called the apartment. The quiet "Mrs. Bereford-Tipton's residence" was in Jarvis' voice, and Tony let out a quick breath of relief.

"Hey, it's me. I got kinda delayed, but I'm heading home now."

"All right," Jarvis said, and while he didn't usually sound anything but calm, his voice was a bit relieved too. "Your aunt is quite worried."

"Yeah." Tony felt guilty. "I have a good reason, but it'll be easier if I just explain when I get there."

"Very well. You'll be home in...?"

"Half an hour, I think," Tony estimated. He said goodbye and hung up, glancing around just in case Creepy Guy had made a reappearance, but the only other people on the street looked like normal folks coming home from work.

Aunt Lucy was waiting on the velour couch when Tony came in. "Where have you _been?_" she demanded, sounding pretty mad, though to him she looked more upset than angry. "If this is how you behave when you're on your own--"

Tony set down his bag and straightened his shoulders. Aunt Lucy wasn't half as scary as his dad...or even his mom...but she could ground him but good if she decided to, so he went for respectful. "I walked a couple of kids from Madame Rostov's home. They, uh, they're only nine, and there was some creep on the subway following them."

As he'd hoped, she softened. "Oh--oh, well, that was good of you, Tony. Very, um, gentlemanly."

Tony shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Yeah, well, I called as soon as I could."

Aunt Lucy sighed. "Very well. Clearly Maria is raising you correctly." Her smile was small, but her anger seemed to be gone. "Just be careful, all right?"

"Yes ma'am." Tony relaxed.

Behind him a throat cleared. "Mr. Dellarosa's supper is getting cold," Jarvis said gently from the entrance to the dining room.

Aunt Lucy waved a hand. "Go, go--I'm sure you're hungry."

He was. Tony turned and took two steps towards the dining room, but another gentle harrumph made him turn back for his bag. Grinning at Aunt Lucy's rolled eyes, he grabbed it up and went to eat.

*** *** ***

It was snowing when Ginny left the studio, small starry flakes floating down from the endless blackness overhead. She pulled her fuzzy hat down over her ears and set off along the sidewalk, smiling at the snow; she loved snow even when she had to walk in it.

Tonight she was alone; Trish's rehearsal had ended earlier, and Ginny's mom and dad were working late. She didn't mind going home alone...much...even if she did have to take the bus.

The stop was halfway down the block from Madame Rostov's. Ginny leaned against the signpost and waited, hoping that she hadn't just missed the bus; as much as she liked snow, it was cold out.

The studio door banged open, and she saw a figure come out and jump down the steps--Eddie. He always came out like he had been shot from a cannon. But at the bottom he stopped and looked up, tilting his head way back.

Ginny watched him. He stayed that way for a little while, and she wondered what he was doing, but finally he straightened and started walking her way, holding out one hand to catch the flakes as they fell.

As he came closer, she saw that he was smiling, even though his fingers and nose were already red with cold. "Don't you have any mittens?" Ginny asked. Her own were blue to match her coat and hat.

Eddie blinked and looked up. "Oh, hey, Ginny, what're you doing here? I thought you took the subway."

"I'm not allowed to go alone," Ginny said, still a little annoyed by the rule. "I have to take the bus instead."

He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. "Doesn't that take longer?"

Ginny sighed. "Yeah, but it's safer."

Eddie snorted. "That's dumb."

Since she agreed with him, Ginny didn't argue. Eddie hitched his bag higher. "Come on, I'll go with you, and that way you won't have to be alone."

Ginny hesitated, tempted, but in the end she shook her head. "I can't. I promised I wouldn't go on the subway without Trish."

She raised her chin, almost sure Eddie would laugh at her for it. His mouth twisted up and he looked kind of disbelieving, but then he just shrugged. "Okay."

He dumped his bag on the bench, and grinned at her. "I can get home this way too. How soon does it get here?"

Ginny wondered suddenly if he didn't like going home alone either. "Ten minutes, probably. If it's not late."

The snow was falling faster, and Eddie tilted his head back again to look up at it. There were flakes melting on his hair, and the corner of his mouth kept turning up. Ginny eyed his hands. "You really should have mittens. And a hat."

"Don't like hats," Eddie said absently, but he shoved his hand in his coat pocket and came out with a pair of new-looking gloves, which he put on without really looking at them.

"You like snow," Ginny guessed when he cupped his hand to catch more flakes.

Eddie glanced over at her. "It's too warm where I come from for snow," he said after a moment.

She was going to ask where that was, but then she remembered how he'd acted the last time she'd asked. "If it keeps going there'll be enough for snowmen tomorrow." She swept the dusting off the top of the bench into her mitten and squeezed it. Yep, it was good building snow.

"Cool," Eddie said, shaking the snow off his glove. He started looking up again, and Ginny smiled to herself and bent down to gather more.

"_Use your wrist and your fingertips, Tangerine," _she remembered her father telling her. _"And don't forget the rotation."_

The snowball hit Eddie smack in the chest, making him jump, and Ginny couldn't help laughing at the surprise on his face. For a second she thought he was going to be mad, but then he yelped and dove for the snow on the ground, and Ginny shrieked and ran back towards the studio steps.

His snowball hit her right between the shoulderblades, and Eddie whooped. "Gotcha!"

By the time the bus showed up they were both panting with laughter and running, and almost too warm for their jackets, which were covered with snow. They trooped onto the bus, Ginny first, and she paid and sat down while Eddie rooted around in his pockets for change.

"Whew." He collapsed into the seat next to her, dumping his bag on the floor despite the dirty meltwater all over the place. "So how long is this ride?"

"It's about forty minutes for me," Ginny said. "I think you'll get off sooner, though."

Eddie squinted into the distance, though she couldn't see what he was looking at, then nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

They talked about building a snow Nutcracker until they reached his stop.

*** *** ***

Saturday rehearsals were longer, but Tony didn't mind. They were a nice change from being trapped in school cooking along with the radiators, and he knew he could finish his homework in a couple of hours on Sunday night. That left the rest of the weekend for dancing, soldering, and reading, and exploring if the weather was good enough. Aunt Lucy had bought him a bunch of cold-weather gear, but he still had trouble when the wind started howling.

The other thing about Saturdays was it was rehearsals for all the crowd scenes too, which meant dancers everywhere. When the big studio was cleared out for Mother Ginger and the Polichinelles, Tony grabbed a towel and made himself scarce, looking for a spot to sit down for a bit and maybe read the latest issue of _Popular Mechanics. _

He decided on the stairs to the fourth floor, and headed in that direction. They didn't get used as much, and while they were a little chilly the window gave enough light to read by. He could scrunch up against the wall if anyone needed to go up or down.

But as he put his hand on the door to the stairwell he heard someone beyond, and paused.

"I don't know why Mr. Mike chose you." Tony recognized the voice--Flavia Barricelli, the older girl dancing the Sugar Plum Fairy. She had a nice voice, really throaty, but she was pretty snooty, and tended to ignore the younger dancers unless she had to work with them directly. Her little sister was Ginny's understudy.

But Flavia didn't sound snooty now; she sounded mean. Tony cocked his ears, curious.

"You're too short and too young, and that hair--" Flavia made a tsking sound. "Whoever heard of a Clara with red hair?"

And that told Tony who she was talking to. He frowned hard, debating between opening the door or going for one of the teachers. But Flavia was still talking.

"You should bow out and let Celia have the role; it really would be better for everyone."

"Mr. Mike picked _me,_" Ginny answered, her voice so quiet that Tony could barely make it out.

Flavia laughed, and the sound made Tony frown even harder. "Only because Celia was out sick during tryouts. If she'd been there you never would have stood a chance."

The slightest of sniffles reached Tony's ears, and he made up his mind. Reaching for the doorknob, he turned it carefully, pushing the door open as quietly as possible.

Flavia was standing with her back to the door, _en pointe_ so she towered even more over Ginny, her hands on her hips. Beyond her was Ginny, staring at the floor, and the way she was biting her lip made Tony really angry.

"Actually," he said, his voice as casual as he could make it, "Madame Rostov picked Ginny for Clara."

Flavia started so badly she actually fell off _pointe,_ catching herself on the turn of the bannister. Ginny's head jerked up, and Tony saw tears on her cheeks.

Flavia's mouth was open, and her face was turning red. Tony narrowed his eyes the way his mother did when she was _really_ pissed off. "Celia sucks compared to Ginny," he added. "So quit trying to scare her and get out of here before I tell Mr. Mike you're trying to run Ginny off."

Flavia was at least six inches taller than Tony, and three years older, but he guessed he'd flustered her pretty good, because she didn't say anything, just pushed quickly past him and back out into the corridor. Tony closed the door after her and looked over at Ginny. "You okay?"

She had her hands over her face, and she shook her head miserably. Tony hesitated, but he didn't want anyone else coming in and finding her, so he went over and put a hand under her elbow. "Come on."

He led her gently up half the flight of stairs to the landing, pulling her out of sight of anyone who might come in through the lower door and making her sit on the first step above the landing. Ginny sniffled into her hands, her shoulders quivering, and Tony sighed and sat down next to her.

"Flavia's a bitch," he said bluntly. "And a liar. She's just mad because Celia didn't get the part."

His mother would wash his mouth out with soap if she ever heard him use that word, but she wasn't there, and in this case he figured it applied. Ginny lifted her head to look at him in shock, her eyes red, and Tony pulled the towel from around his neck and handed it to her. "Here, blow your nose."

Ginny didn't, but she did wipe her face. "She's right," she said in a whisper. "Clara doesn't have red hair."

"How do you know?" Tony asked practically. "She has whatever color hair the best dancer does."

She didn't look convinced. Tony cocked his head. "Look, you know Mr. Mike is fair. He picks people because of their dancing, not their looks. And if your hair really was a problem they'd just make you wear a wig or something."

That made Ginny splutter a little laugh, and Tony grinned. She wiped her eyes again. "How did you know that about Madame Rostov?"

Tony hesitated again, but he really didn't want to lie to Ginny, not when she was looking at him with such big trusting eyes. "I don't know it, I was just trying to get Flavia. But I bet it_ is_ true." He shrugged. "Isn't that why she comes to the tryouts?"

Ginny blinked. "Yeah..."

"There you go then." Tony patted Ginny's shoulder gingerly. "You going to be okay?"

She swallowed, then nodded, her chin coming up, and Tony relaxed. "Thanks," she added, in a whisper.

"Any time. Come on, let's go get a Coke."

Ginny stood up and folded the towel neatly, and smoothed her hair back, though a few wisps kept curling stubbornly up. Tony smirked at the back of her head, and didn't point them out as she led him back downstairs and into the hall.

*** *** ***

The wait for the Number 55 bus was boring, especially just after sunset. Ginny didn't like sitting on the bench because it was metal, and cold, so she walked around it. The big sodium streetlight made a nice arc on the ground around the stop, so she could see everything around her, and sometimes she thought it was like a spotlight.

Eddie had started waiting with her now, and he didn't like sitting on the bench either. "Man, I hate a frozen butt, and by the time you get the bench warmed up, the bus comes."

She giggled at that; sometimes he said things like he was serious, but she knew he was trying to make her laugh. Eddie didn't do it often when they were dancing—once in a while—but when they were hanging out, he could be funny.

It was starting to snow very lightly now, and Ginny wanted to get home because it was pizza night. She only half-listened to Eddie as he said something about making robots, and all of a sudden she did a quick pirouette, liking the way her breath made a little vapor trail around her. Eddie stopped talking and looked at her; she stopped, but he waved to her to keep going.

"It looks . . . different when your hair's down," was all he murmured.

Ginny felt her face get hot, but she turned and went into the steps for the scene they'd just been rehearsing earlier, near the very end of the Nutcracker. She reached out, and Eddie moved into position, catching her hand in his, his glove cupping her pink mitten.

She let him brace her for her arabesque, and they moved from that to her three fouetté en tournants, which flowed into the half turns. For the first time, Ginny understood how good it was to dance with Eddie. It didn't matter that they weren't in the studio, or in the cold auditorium; they could do this anywhere, even at a bus stop and it was right.

Ginny loved the feel of the snowflakes, and the blue glow of the twilight. She loved that Eddie looked like he was having fun too. It was hard to be graceful in snow boots, but she managed and at the end of the segment when she knew she was supposed to twirl and lean back into his arms with her own extended, Ginny did it without hesitating.

They paused, holding the pose, and all of a sudden the slow, loud sound of clapping hands rang out in the snowy night. Eddie gently pushed her back up to standing, and she looked around for where the sound was coming from, her face getting red again.

"Lawd child, that was so bee-YO-ti-FUL," came the cheerful call of the bus driver. The 55 had pulled up, and the folding doors were open, revealing the grandmotherly face of the driver. At the windows, several other passengers were smiling and applauding.

"That was great!"

"I didn't know we had _stars_ riding this route!"

"When's your show?"

Ginny ducked her head, too embarrassed to talk, but Eddie climbed up the steps and stood at the front of the bus next to the fare box, smiling. "We're doing the Nutcracker at the Wilson Auditorium in one week, and Ginny here is the star. You can get tickets at the Rostov Dance Academy and they're cheap. Come and see us; the show's really, really good."

The passengers smiled and nodded, a few looked as if they might actually do it. Ginny slipped into an empty seat, still pink, but when Eddie sat down next to her, he lightly bumped her shoulder with his own. "That was cool."

"I didn't know anyone was watching us!" she blurted in a whisper.

He grinned at her. "Well they were, and you were great, even in boots. I wish Mr. Mike would let you dance with your hair down," he added, and brushed a few melting flakes from her head.

Ginny bit her lips and smiled at Eddie. "_You _were great. I knew you'd be in the right place."

Eddie blushed; the red spreading over his fair skin, and he ducked his head, quiet for the rest of the ride to her house.

*** *** ***

"All right, take a break, Ms. McGann. Fifteen minutes." Mr. Mike nodded to her, and Ginny lowered her arms with a puff of relief. Saturday rehearsals were great--they had practically the whole day to work on refining their pieces--but they did wear her out. Even Eddie was tired by the time they were dismissed.

Ginny rolled her head on her neck to ease an ache and left the little studio. _I need a drink of water--and I hope the apple's still in my bag--_ Normally eating was not encouraged at Madame Rostov's, and never in the studios, but Mr. Mike had given all of the _Nutcracker_ cast a special lecture.

_Listen to your bodies,_ he'd told them, smiling in that dry way he had. _ Pain is the way your body tells you something's wrong, and hunger is the way it tells you it needs fuel. We do not want to see any of you hurt yourselves because you didn't listen. _

So long rehearsal days meant snacks were permitted, as long as they didn't leave trash lying around. The hallway was packed with dancers stretching, talking, and exercising, and she dodged around them to the water fountain, filling up on cool water before finding her bag.

There was not only an apple, there was an orange too. _ I think Mom's been sneaking stuff into my bag again._ Ginny fished them both out and went to find a quieter place to sit, where she wouldn't get accidentally kicked by someone warming up. _The stairwell, maybe-- _

It was empty, with no one going up or coming down, and Ginny pattered up the stairs to the first turn, planning on sitting there where Eddie had taken her after scaring off Flavia. But someone was already there.

Eddie was staring at the window in the turn of the stairwell, his expression so lost that Ginny's breath caught in her throat. But then he noticed her, and scowled.

"What do you want?" he asked rudely.

She almost backed away, but he didn't just look angry, he looked miserable too. Something was wrong, and she wanted to help.

So Ginny sat down next to him on the stair. "Mr. Mike wants us both in Studio Three in ten minutes," she told him, pretending not to be scared of him.

Eddie glared some more, but Ginny rubbed the apple on the sleeve of her leotard and took a big bite, looking out the window herself. Eddie didn't say anything, and after a minute she felt his anger stop pushing at her. He sighed.

Ginny held out the orange, still looking through the window, and felt him take it from her palm. A moment later the sharp smell of citrus made her nose tingle, even over the apple juice.

She finished her bite and took another, chewing slowly and swallowing before speaking. "Are you okay?"

Eddie was quiet for a while longer, and then finally he sighed again. "I was supposed to go home right after Christmas, and now it looks like I can't."

His voice was low--he wasn't even trying to sound like he didn't care. Ginny thought about it for a little while. She knew Eddie had a secret--he didn't answer questions about his life, for one thing, and while he'd mentioned his aunt he didn't talk about his parents either. Ginny hadn't thought about it too much; she'd just figured that maybe they were dead, or maybe divorced.

"That's too bad," she said after a while. It was sad to think of Eddie leaving, but he obviously wanted to go back home.

"Yeah." He sounded bitter, and Ginny finally turned to look at him. He was peeling the orange carefully, so that the rind came off in one long curl, and he didn't look back up at her. His hair was hanging in his eyes. "I mean, it wasn't a sure thing, but..."

"That's still a pain," Ginny agreed. She couldn't imagine being away from her parents for Christmas. Just the idea made her feel sad.

Eddie finished pulling off the rind and started splitting the orange into sections. Ginny took another bite of apple.

"It's not like I don't like New York," Eddie said quietly, still staring down at his fruit. "But I miss home, you know?"

Ginny watched as his clever fingers laid down another wedge. "What's it like?"

He glanced up at last, his mouth twisting. "Warmer than this."

That made her grin a little, and he looked back down, smirking. "I dunno. Different. More spread out." He arranged the wedges into a pattern on the spiraled rind.

"You'll get to go back eventually, though, right?"

Eddie flicked the pattern with a finger and it fell apart. "Yeah. Eventually."

He didn't sound sure, and that made her sad too. But then he popped one segment into his mouth and looked up, trying to smile. "Anyway I'll get lots of presents."

"That's an advantage," Ginny agreed. "What are you asking for?"

"Wrenches," Eddie said around another segment, and Ginny blinked.

"What?"

"Wrenches. The snap-on kind."

"Oh." She nodded. "My mom has a set of those."

Eddie offered her a piece of orange, but Ginny shook her head. "What do you want?" he asked, eating it himself.

"The Vaganova ballet book." Ginny smiled behind her apple. "I keep getting it out of the library, and it's a pain to return it."

"Yeah, I bet."

They finished their snacks without saying any more, and then got up to go back to rehearsal, but Ginny could tell that Eddie felt better, and she was satisfied.

*** *** ***

The head was terrible. Tony hated the way it felt, and the eyeholes were uneven, making it hard to see and hit his marks. Mrs. Manouf empathized, and tried to make the padding more comfortable.

"You are lucky you do not have to dance the entire story in it, though."

Tony knew what she said was true, but it didn't make it any more fun to wear it.

They were rehearsing in the auditorium now, and the sets were being built all around them. Mr. Mike and Jill were old hands at keeping the rehearsals on track, and there were several parents helping out as well, making sure the dancers had their sweaters and leg warmers and bobby pins within reach.

During a break, when Mr. Mike was working with Mother Ginger, Tony sat with Ginny in the front row seats along with Phillip and some of the Sugar Plum fairies. Ginny was focused on watching Trish, but Tony could tell her mind was somewhere else. He tried to get back to his calculus textbook, but the seat wasn't comfortable, so he gave up and set it aside. "You okay?" he asked.

"Huh?" Ginny blinked, and shot him a glance. "I'm just . . . thinking."

"Hard work," Tony agreed, just to tease her. Usually she would grin at something silly like that, but this time Ginny just looked at him blankly, and he saw that she'd bitten her thumbnail down to the quick. That little sign bothered him, and Tony sensed there was something much more to her preoccupation.

"Hey, I'm serious. Is something wrong?" he asked softly, so the other dancers around them couldn't hear. She didn't respond for a minute, and then, after seeming to come to some internal decision, she leaned towards him and it came out in a quick whisper.

"My dad's getting sick again."

Tony hesitated. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Ginny nodded reluctantly. "I heard Mom talking on the phone to Gramma Leigh, and I know I shouldn't listen in, but . . . I did. He's getting tests at work today."

Dimly Tony remembered Ginny's dad worked at a hospital, and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably, wishing he could say something reassuring. "Oh."

"Don't tell anyone," Ginny sighed. "Okay? He'll get better like last time, I know he will. It just makes me sad when he's sick."

"Okay," Tony agreed, and awkwardly rubbed her thin shoulder. "He'll get better."

She flashed a hopeful smile at him, blinking a bit, and then Mr. Mike called for them to come up and get into position on the stage. Tony followed Ginny, keeping his gaze on her and feeling for the first time, that maybe someone else would be having a rougher Christmas than he would.

*** *** ***

Ginny knew that the only thing that should be on her mind should be dancing, and maybe school, but that phone call kept coming back. Her Daddy didn't look any different, but he took a nap almost every evening he didn't work late, and somehow Ginny knew that something was wrong.

She couldn't remember all that much about when he'd been sick the last time; she'd only been six, and it had been summertime, so she'd spent a lot of the time with Gramma Leigh upstate at the farm. But she _did _remember that before he'd gotten sick, Daddy had picked her up and tossed her in the air every night when he got home.

He hadn't done it since, and while Mom said it was because Ginny was too big, Ginny knew that wasn't true. She was still small and light.

Finally she _had_ to know. She waited until Friday, when they were eating macaroni and cheese for supper--just the two of them, since Mom had to work late.

Daddy wasn't eating much of his macaroni, Ginny noticed with a sinking feeling; mostly he was just pushing it around on his plate, even though he was asking her questions about rehearsal. So she just asked.

"Daddy? Are you sick again?"

Mr. McGann blinked, his fork stopping its trip around his plate, and then he laughed, shaking his head. "I told Gwen you would know."

Ginny bit her lip, and he reached across the table to pat her hand. "Yes, Tangerine, I am. Sometimes my kind of cancer comes back, and this time it has."

He was smiling, but she didn't feel any better. "But you'll get well, right?"

"Don't worry, I'm tough." He winked. "I beat it once, I can sure do it again."

Ginny relaxed some. "Are you going to go _bald _again?"

Mr. McGann laughed again. "Probably! I'll have to borrow some of your hair to cover me up--think you can spare some?"

He tugged one of her braids, and Ginny giggled. "I need it for the show!"

"Oh, I can wait until after." Mr. McGann took a bite of macaroni and spoke around it. "Next time your Prince walks you home, ask him in. I'd like to meet him."

"Usually you're not here," Ginny pointed out. "But okay. I don't know if he will."

"I'll bake cookies, then," her Daddy said. "I have yet to meet a young man who can resist cookies."

Ginny rolled her eyes; he was getting silly again. She finished her dinner with a lighter heart as he teased her about what kind of cookies Nutcracker Princes might like.

Of course he would get better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Marvel Comics, Fairview Entertainment, Dark Blades Films, and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. All others belong to us, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask us first. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.**

**Last year ****Cincoflex**** and I had a really great idea. Due to NaNoWriMo and other considerations, it didn't get finished until now. I'm going to be boastful and say...I think it was worth the wait. *grin* It is always a privilege and a pleasure to write with such a talented, warm-hearted author, who very generously let me have my own way in almost every point in this story. Thank you, love. -- VRTrakowski**

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"Usually I just give Jarvis a bonus," Aunt Lucy grumbled, but good-naturedly. She and Tony were having lunch on the second floor of the Russian Tea Room on the last Saturday before the _Nutcracker_ opened. Tony was scowling at the menu.

"Money is good, but you ought to get him a better set of boots and gloves," Tony pointed out with practicality. "Chicken Kiev, I guess. I'll just eat the chicken and leave the Kiev."

Aunt Lucy hid a laugh and pretended to study the menu again. "And I'll have my usual—the caviar omelet. Since you're the man of the house, I'll leave you to order it when the waitress comes back. Boots? You're serious?"

Tony nodded confidently, looking up at her. "Yep. I know he gets cold waiting out in the limo, but he'll never say anything about it. Did . . ." he hesitated, looking by turns hopeful and wary, "Did my mom call yet?"

"Not yet, honey. The letter said six o'clock tonight, and I've already told Mr. Mike you'd be a little late. But I think she must have spoken to Santa, because we're certainly getting some big packages!"

Tony rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. "Yeah, my mom and Santa are good buddies. Dad says they used to date."

"Oh so _that_ explains why she always had the bigger stocking," Aunt Lucy played along, pretending to be annoyed even though she was smiling. "I get it now."

The waitress came up and listened respectfully as Tony rattled off the lunch order, then glided away again. Aunt Lucy reached over that squeezed Tony's hand, her voice low. "Honey, I'm so, so sorry that this isn't the Christmas that you were expecting, but at the same time, you've made it one of my better ones. I've learned a lot while you've been here. How to solve a Rubik's Cube, and how to change a fuse—"

"—Sorry about blowing the lights," Tony mumbled. "I'll remember about compensating for the voltage next time."

Aunt Lucy waved a hand, her expression wryly amused. "Hey, I'm a New Yorker—I'm used to blackouts. But my point is . . . I'm really, really glad you're here."

Tony blushed a little and slipped out of his seat to give his aunt a hug. She squeezed him back until he had to wriggle out again and make his way back, face still red. "Me too. New York is okay."

"Glad to hear it," Aunt Lucy replied gently. "And just so you know, both Jarvis and I are looking forward to seeing your show."

Tony went a little redder, but he was smiling. "Thanks."

*** *** ***

Escorting the girls home on the subway had become a once-a-week habit, every Friday evening when the longer rehearsal had Trish staying later. Tony didn't mind. They were fun to hang out with, and even though Creepy Guy had only shown up once since the first trip, he liked feeling like he was protecting them.

For all he knew, anyway, it might be him who was keeping Creepy Guy away.

Besides, Trish always came looking for him, with Ginny right beside her, and now that Aunt Lucy knew what he was doing Tony didn't get in trouble for getting back late.

The Friday before the dress rehearsal the girls were bouncier than usual. As they went down into the station Trish glanced at Ginny, and Ginny grinned back, and then they were singing. "Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg..."

Tony had to laugh. He didn't know how they did it--some kind of female telepathy, he supposed. But they were nice to listen to, even if they did keep breaking into giggles over the lyrics.

They finished the song just as the train arrived, and their car was nearly empty. Trish dumped her bag on a seat, swung around a pole, and started a new song. "On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me--" And she pointed at Ginny, who chimed in perfectly.

"A partridge in a pear tree. On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me--"

"Two turtle doves--"

"And a partridge in a pear tree. On the third day of Christmas--"

They went on, trading the lyrics back and forth, and Tony put his feet up on the seat next to him and listened with a grin. He recognized the gleam in Trish's eye when she began "On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me--"

So when she pointed at _him_, he was ready. "Five golden rings..."

Unfortunately, his voice decided to break on "rings". Trish immediately spluttered into laughter, and Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth. The giggle escaped anyway.

Tony felt his ears getting red, but he started to laugh too; it really _was_ funny. He pointed at Ginny, who dropped her hand, sucked in a breath, and picked up with "Four calling birds--"

Trish was still laughing, but she managed to get out the next line, and Tony took the turtledoves, his voice holding this time. Ginny glanced over at him, still smiling though her cheeks were pink, and he grinned at her. The voice thing sucked, but the girls weren't being mean about it.

They swept into the next verse, and when it was Tony's turn he _made_ "Five golden rings" break in the middle. That got them all, and the song was lost as Trish collapsed into a seat and they all roared with laughter.

The next six verses took a long time to finish. Tony found he could make the girls lose it by timing the breaks just right, though at least twice more his voice did it on its own. It was a very weird feeling, like a disconnect between his head and his throat; he had figured it would happen sooner or later, but he didn't normally do a lot of singing and he hadn't been _expecting_ it.

By the time they reached the girls' stop, they had finished the song. Trish and Ginny started in on one Tony didn't know, so he just listened as their voices twined together, _Good people all, this Christmastime... _

As usual, the two of them joined hands when they got out of the station, still singing, but this time Ginny held out a mittened hand to him as well, and Tony took it. Normally he wouldn't be caught dead holding hands with a little girl, but it didn't _feel _like that; it felt like Christmas, with their singing, and the cold night air.

It felt like friends.

When their carol was over they switched to "Silent Night", and that one he knew, but Tony just hummed along, not wanting his voice to break when things weren't funny any more. Three verses of that got them to the girls' building, and Ginny and Trish finished on the steps, letting their voices fade away in a beautiful end.

Tony let Ginny's hand go and clapped slowly, his gloves making a sort of hollow sound. Ginny's cheeks turned pink again, and Trish gave him a perfect curtsey.

"Thank you, thank you," she said, waved cheerfully, and vanished inside, leaving Tony and Ginny to talk as they usually did for a moment.

Tony shivered as a cold wind swept down the street, and Ginny looked at him seriously. "Do you want to come inside and have some hot cocoa? I think my dad made cookies."

Tony hesitated, but it was cold, and he had some leeway before he was expected back. "Sure, okay." Cookies _did _sound good, and he could warm up a little.

She led him up the narrow stairs to her family's apartment. Tony had never actually been in the building before, and he looked around with interest at the scarred woodwork and the slightly dingy plaster. Cooking smells and voices leaked from behind doors, but the place felt comfortable in a way his aunt's building never did.

Ginny unlocked a door on the third floor, fishing the key from around her neck where it hung on a ribbon, and gestured him shyly inside. The place smelled of pot roast, probably with carrots, and the little entryway was hung with small framed photos and held a long coatrack bolted to the wall.

Ginny set down her bag and unwrapped her scarf. "You can leave your things here," she told him, and Tony complied, dropping his own duffel and stuffing his gloves into his coat pocket before peeling it off and hanging it up. Ginny did the same, her hat going neatly onto the same hook as her coat.

"Come on--Daddy's probably lying down."

The small living room had furniture with the same comfortable shabbiness as the outer hallways, but Ginny kept going into a narrow but scrupulously clean kitchen. Jarvis would approve, Tony thought as he looked around; it was not only clean but tidy, with everything in its own place. Ginny washed her hands at the sink and then got a saucepan out of the cupboard, pouring in some milk from the refrigerator. "The cookies are in that jar," she said, nodding at the round ceramic container on the table against one wall.

Feeling slightly awkward, Tony washed his hands too and sat down at the table, more to keep out of Ginny's way in the small space than because he felt comfortable. But the warmth of the apartment was good after the cold, and the jar was full of snickerdoodles--definitely homemade, Tony discovered as he bit into one.

Ginny mixed cocoa and sugar and milk in two mugs, and then filled them with the hot milk, stirring until the rich smell of chocolate almost hid the smell of the pot roast. Then she put one mug in front of him and sat down in the other chair to sip at her own. Her feet didn't quite touch the floor, Tony noticed.

The cocoa tasted good too. Tony didn't know what to say, but Ginny didn't seem to be waiting for him to say anything; she just reached into the jar for a cookie of her own, dunking it into her cocoa and then nibbling off the soaked edge.

She'd made it through one cookie and was starting on a second when Tony heard someone moving in the hallway beyond the kitchen. Then a tall thin man appeared in the doorway, red hair rumpled and a sweater wrapped around fairly bony shoulders. His smile was gentle.

Ginny's face lit, and she bounced to her feet, throwing her arms around the man. "Hi Daddy."

"Hi, kiddo." He hugged her strongly, and Tony felt his throat close a little. Suddenly, for some reason, he felt very lonely.

But then Ginny was turning back. "This is Eddie Dellarosa, he's dancing the Nutcracker Prince."

The manners his parents had drilled into him pushed Tony to his feet, and he held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"Tom McGann. It's a pleasure, young man." His hand was strong but bony, and as Tony looked up at him there was a twist in the pit of his stomach.

Something was telling him that Ginny's hopes for her father were not going to come true.

But he just smiled politely at Mr. McGann, who was smiling back. "I want to thank you for walking home with the girls," Ginny's father went on. "We know they're smart and careful, but it's still good to know that they're not alone."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but didn't protest. Tony shrugged, a little embarrassed again. "It's not a problem."

Mr. McGann chuckled. "A real cavalier. Well, have another cookie. Would you like to stay for dinner? Ginny's mom should be home soon."

Tony shook his head. "Um, no thank you. I need to get home."

"Maybe some other time, then." Mr. McGann pulled a sandwich bag out of a drawer and filled it with cookies, then handed it to Tony. "Something to tide you over until you get there."

"Thanks." Tony picked up his mug to finish his cocoa, and Mr. McGann went to the stove to check the pot roast. Ginny opened another drawer and handed him a spoon without his asking, as smoothly as her dancing, and Tony had to hide a smile.

She walked him back down the stairs, a solemn figure just ahead on the worn treads. It was interesting to have seen that little bit of her home, Tony thought; it made her more real, in a way. He didn't really want to stay for dinner anyway, it was too awkward, but the cocoa and the heat had warmed him up and the weight of the cookies in his pocket was something to stave off the growling of his stomach.

"See you tomorrow," Ginny said at the door, holding it open as Tony passed through it.

He grinned back at her, hefting the strap of his bag to his shoulder. "You bet. Thanks for the cocoa."

Her smile was slow and curling, and she waved goodbye.

Tony munched on cookies as he walked back to the station. It was annoying how hungry he got these days--the meals Jarvis served were never skimpy, but it was like his stomach had no bottom. It was unfair to be hungry all the time and still not _grow. _

But the cookies were really good.

*** *** ***

The most exciting part of rehearsal, as far as Tony was concerned, was the sleigh at the end of the performance. It was made out of wood and drawn by a pair of wooden reindeer cutouts, though the reindeer hadn't yet been fastened on. Instead of just gliding off-stage, like the small productions he'd been in, the thing was on wires and would actually lift into the air. The stage wasn't large enough for it to go too high, but it was fairly impressive, and he was fascinated by the mechanism.

Mr. Mike and the stage manager went over it, checking to make sure it worked right, and then loaded it up with sandbags to approximate the weight of Tony and Ginny together. It wobbled just slightly on takeoff, but according to Mr. Sampson that always happened, and Mr. Mike deferred to him.

"Are you scared of heights?" Tony asked as he and Ginny watched the sleigh be lowered back to the ground.

She bit her lip, but shook her head. "Not really."

He squinted at her, but she didn't seem to be lying. "Are you?" she asked.

"No way." Tony grinned. He _loved _flying. In fact, one of the things he kept asking for was pilot lessons, but so far no dice.

"Ready to try it?" Mr. Mike asked, glancing back at them both. They nodded, and hurried forward to climb in--not dancing yet, but nonetheless Tony held out a hand to help Ginny in the way he would in the show, which made her smile. Tony knew he could _lift_ her in if he wanted to, but he figured she wouldn't like that--and anyway the side of the sleigh was low in front so they could get in and out easily.

They settled into the seat, which was just a wide board fastened across the inside of the sleigh, and Mr. Mike lifted his brows. "I want you both to hang on to the sides, at least for this first try. And remember, if you need to come down, all you have to do is say the word, even during a performance."

"Yes, sir," Ginny said, and Tony nodded impatiently. Both of them gripped their respective sides with one hand, and Tony noticed with amusement that Ginny's other hand was holding onto the board seat between them.

The sleigh lurched forward, and then tilted up, rising into the air much like a roller coaster. Ginny squeaked and clutched harder, leaning forward a little, but Tony relaxed into the tilt, letting his body move with the small jerks as the sleigh climbed higher.

As soon as it reached above the curtain level, it leveled out, and Ginny let out her breath and glanced over at Tony. "It is a bit scary," she admitted, and Tony punched her lightly on the shoulder.

"You're doing fine. See, the worst is over." The stage manager was working the sleigh wires, and swung it over onto the scaffolding, settling it down with a thump. Ginny scrambled out, swiping her hands across her leotard as she stepped away from the sleigh, and Tony followed after.

"You can say no if you want," he reminded her. "They can rig it to be pulled out across the floor."

He could tell she was tempted as she looked back at the sleigh, but then she lifted her chin. "No. I'll get used to it."

"Cool." Tony waved down at Mr. Mike, who was standing below on the stage and looking up at them.

"Come on down," he called up. "We need to go over blocking again."

Ginny headed for the stairs. Tony started to follow, but stopped as the sleigh began to lift off the scaffolding.

He was only going to watch as Mr. Sampson worked the mechanism below, but something caught Tony's ear, and he frowned, trying to figure out what it was. The sleigh lifted away easily, reversing course and traveling down backwards, but Tony stared after it, feeling..._knowing_ that something was wrong.

"Mr. Dellarosa!" came Mr. Mike's sharp voice, and Tony started and made for the stairs, pattering down them in time to see the sleigh land on the stage without any problem.

And then it was back to work, but Tony didn't forget the nagging sense of wrongness, merely pushed it to the back of his mind for the moment.

_I'll figure it out later. _

*** *** ***

Sunday was the dancers' day off, despite the press to practice. _Your bodies need the break, _Mr. Mike had told them; _do some stretching to keep limber, but otherwise rest. You'll dance better for it, and avoid injury. _

_Sorry, can't rest, _Tony thought as he rummaged through his boxes after Sunday lunch. _Need to figure this out. _

He frowned at his heaped possessions, fretting over what he didn't have; shipping his entire tool collection had been nixed by his mother, and though he had a few essentials, Tony had the feeling that he would need more.

_Maybe I can find some there._ Sighing, he slipped what he had into his backpack and grabbed his coat and gloves, checking his pockets to make sure he had enough cash. Opening his door, he walked quietly down the hall; Aunt Lucy took a nap every Sunday afternoon that she didn't have an engagement, and he didn't want to disturb her.

Jarvis was polishing silver in the kitchen when Tony stuck his head in. "I'm going out," he told the butler, who nodded. That was the agreement they'd come to, he and Aunt Lucy; Tony went to Mass with her on Sunday mornings, and the rest of the day was his, as long as he let them know what he was up to. It was fair, and Tony didn't mind sticking to it.

He started to turn away, but then hesitated. "Do you have a double hex screwdriver?" he asked Jarvis, who raised his brows thoughtfully.

"I don't believe I do," he said after a moment. "But Fred probably does."

"Great, thanks." Tony slung his backpack on and headed out to the elevator. Fred was one of the doormen, and he and Tony had become friends early on. He was cool.

So was Jarvis, Tony reflected on the ride down. Most grownups would have wanted to know why Tony needed a specific screwdriver, but Jarvis seemed to take it for granted that Tony wasn't going to take anything apart.

_Anything I can't put back together again, anyway._ Tony smirked at his reflection in the polished brass wall of the elevator.

Fred was happy to supply the tool, and before _he_ could ask why, another resident got his attention, and Tony slipped away into the cold outdoors, his breath steaming.

He was getting used to the city. Tony navigated his way to the college campus where the auditorium was located, and walked in with no trouble; people were setting up for a chamber music concert on the building's smaller stage, and no one spared him more than a glance. Part of the key to getting somewhere you shouldn't be was to act like you belonged, Tony knew, and it was a piece of cake to get backstage.

The sleigh was kept in the basement storage area, along with many other set pieces, all brought up on a freight elevator in the back. But Tony had no plans to mess with that; it was noisy and definitely _would _attract attention. Instead, he tried the door to the stairs that led down.

It was locked, which he'd expected anyway. Tony pulled a screwdriver from his pack, and within a minute he'd jimmied the door open; the lock was ancient.

The stairwell beyond was pitch black, and Tony debated turning on the stair lights, but he was afraid that they would show beyond the door, so he settled for the flashlight he'd brought along. A small rock he'd picked up crossing the park propped the door just barely open. _Don't want to get locked in. _

Switching on his flashlight, Tony made his way down the stairs. He'd been down to the basement twice already, helping Mr. Sampson and Jill move equipment, but it was definitely creepier without the overheads, and Tony felt a little weird by himself in the dark.

But once he'd reached the bottom he felt safe in pulling the big switch to turn on the basement lights. It didn't help the creepiness that much, what with all the shadows and dark pockets, but at least he was less likely to trip.

Tony found the sleigh next to its reindeer, back near the elevator. He dropped his bag and took off his coat, hanging it absently over the closest reindeer. "Okay," he muttered. "What the heck is wrong?"

It took him about ten minutes to figure it out. The sleigh was a prop rather than a real one, of course, and was made out of sturdy plywood held together with bolts. All those were firm; but when Tony examined the fasteners that held the wires in place along the back, he found that the screws had begun to pull out.

The sight of the loose fasteners made him shiver. It wasn't hard to picture the wires pulling free as the sleigh rose above the stage, suddenly dropping the sleigh vertical. _I could grab on if it started to go, but Ginny... _

The thought of her tumbling out, plunging down towards the hard boards below, had Tony setting his teeth and reaching for his bag.

As it turned out, he didn't need the double hex after all, but as Tony rummaged through the detritus of performances past for the parts he needed, he seethed at Mr. Sampson. _He should have checked. _

Of course, all Tony had to do was point out the damage, and Mr. Mike would immediately nix the sleigh flight. But Tony _wanted_ to fly.

_And besides, _he told himself, _Ginny would think there really was something to be scared of, and she might never try it again._

Fortunately, he turned up enough serviceable parts to allow him to fix the sleigh without making the repairs immediately obvious. He set to work grimly, making very sure that his screws were set properly, and then went over the rest of the sleigh with close attention and the flashlight, to make sure it was all in working order.

When he was finished, Tony packed up his tools again and mounted the stairs, slipping out and locking the door behind him. Grimly satisfied, he went back out into the day and headed for the Pizza Cake joint near the academy.

After that, he deserved at least _three_ slices.

*** *** ***

Ginny didn't want to admit that the fluttering in her stomach was getting stronger every day. She patiently let Mrs. Manouf fit her costumes ("Eat _more_, my lovely girl; your tallness is coming soon!") and paid attention to every word Mr. Mike said, even when he was giving directions to other people. She liked how calm he was, even when the music system in the auditorium didn't work right, or when one of the party kids knocked over part of the set.

It made her feel better.

Dancing did too; when she was moving to the music, working to get every step, every sweep of her arms and pose perfect, time went by in a blink. When she danced, Ginny felt like a little puff of air, light and hardly touching the ground. The flutters went away, and she felt happy, inside and out. One of the best parts was that Eddie felt it too. She could tell, because he'd get a look on his face that made him look older and made her feel a little bit tingly.

Ginny supposed that was the Prince part of his dancing.

They had a dress rehearsal for the Aspen Assisted Care Home residents from Central Park West. There weren't many of them; they sat in the middle section of the auditorium in their heavy winter coats and wooly hats, some of them with really thick glasses that twinkled in the lights. But they liked the dancing, and Ginny saw a couple of them swaying in time with the music. She concentrated on dancing as best she could, surprised at how fast the show went. When it was time to come out and make her révérence, the applause startled her, and she blinked as the residents clapped and told her she was a 'real sweetheart.'

Eddie bowed with her, and then picked her up, lifting her from his left side to his right; Ginny didn't know he was going to do that, but pretended that she did and let him do it, trying to look graceful. Off in the wings she could see Mr. Mike scowling a little, but Eddie was grinning. They bowed again and then waved to the wings so the rest of the company came out and curtseyed or bowed. The residents were trying to get to their feet, and one of them, a bald old man with a big nose, whistled loudly.

Afterwards Mr. Mike kept everyone on stage and began to tell them what they needed to work on. Some of it was stuff they all knew, like keeping tempo and not bumping into each other in the wings. At the very end, Mr. Mike looked at Eddie very hard.

"Mr. Dellarosa, I can't say I approve of your flamboyant gesture with Miss McGann during your bow . . . . however," he coughed, "The effect was undeniably charming, and if you are both secure with the lift, we shall see about incorporating it next time. Do NOT," he glared at them, "improvise anything further though. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir," Eddie murmured. Ginny nodded, feeling hot in the face. She shot an angry look at Eddie, but he just grinned at her. As they made their way backstage to the dressing rooms, she reached out and lightly shoved him.

"Don't get me in trouble," she told him firmly.

"I didn't. I made us look good."

"Eddie! I don't want Mr. Mike to get mad at me. At _us,_" she corrected.

"Oh come on, freckle-puss, sometimes you've gotta take chances. I know I can lift you, YOU know I can lift you, and now Mr. Mike knows it too. No big deal."

Ginny scowled and hit his back again. "Don't call me freckle-puss."

Eddie looked over his shoulder. "Okay, okay—you know I like your freckles anyway. They make you look all cinnamony."

She didn't know what to say to that; it wasn't a mean thing and made her stomach tickle, so instead she stormed off to the girl's dressing room, and wiped off her makeup harder than she needed to.

*** *** ***

All of them drove together for opening night, and Ginny was too nervous to eat more than a handful of crackers. Trish was chattering about something she'd seen on TV, but Ginny hardly heard it. She sat next to Daddy, and at the stoplights, he reached over and squeezed her hand.

"You'll feel better once you're on stage, Tangerine," he whispered, and she nodded, grateful that his fingers were warm.

Daddy was right; everything would be fine when the music started and she could just dance.

They pulled up to the back of the auditorium and Trish pointed out the cars she knew. "There's Mr. Mike's Saab, and Miss Jill's Bug, an' Phillip's mom's . . . what the _heck_ is that?"

"A Citroen," Mr. McGann murmured, pulling into one of the last spaces. "It's a French car."

"It looks like a big blue cockroach with wheels," Trish announced, and Ginny laughed because it DID. Her daddy grinned and made her wrap her long muffler around her throat. They went up the stairs in through the stage door. Inside, it was warmer, and Ginny could hear the little kids in the big warm up room.

She turned; Daddy was pale, but smiling at her and he held out his arms. Ginny went and hugged him hard.

"I'm going to go get a good seat out front, right where you can see me," he assured her, and she nodded, feeling better.

She got into her costume. Miss Jill came over and did her makeup; Ginny held still, watching her freckles get lighter under the pale coloring. Miss Jill was smiling. "Everyone's here on time, I'm so _glad_ about that."

The music was filtering through the backstage rooms, and Ginny closed her eyes, thinking of dancing. When she opened them, Eddie was on the stool next to her, doing up the buttons on his costume's jacket. He looked like he was concentrating too, but turned his head to look at her and whispered, "Remember when we were dancing at the bus stop?"

She nodded, and Eddie continued. "The busdriver is out there, over on the left side, towards the wall. I think she has her husband with her too."

"Really?" Ginny asked in surprise. Eddie grinned, but doesn't get to say anything because Miss Jill swooped down with a hair brush and began to tackle his hair.

From that point on, everything seemed to speed up, and although Ginny tried hard to concentrate, the tickles in her tummy kept fluttering, and she wiggled to try and get rid of them. She went to the left wings, waiting as patiently as she could as the orchestra played the introduction and the big velvet curtains began to open. Out in the audience, a little rumble of applause rolled out and Ginny thought it sounded a little like the ocean, soft and soothing.

She smiled.

*** *** ***

Tony danced. It was a bigger audience than he'd had in California, but he wasn't too fazed. Now he understood why Mr. Mike kept urging them to make all the stage business larger, and as he did his leaps, he tried to put as much lift into them as he could.

Everyone did great, as far as he could see. Miss Jill pranced around as Herr Drosselmeyer, looking weird _and_ cute in her stick-on goatee and military jacket. Katie didn't fall down until she was in the wings. Phillip managed to keep in time and did pretty good on his chaine . . .

And then it was time to dance with Ginny. Tony concentrated, trying hard to match what she was putting into it, and that took _work_ because she was as close to perfect as he'd ever seen her. Tony braced her, spun her, kept pace with her impossibly beautiful poses and shifts and jumps. Somewhere in the back of his mind it dawned on him that she not only was good, but that she could be on her way to greatness, and that startled him because he'd never thought about dancing for a living before.

But on stage, Ginny McGann wasn't here anymore; Clara floated and dipped and carried _him _through the whole performance, and against his will, Tony was a little dazzled by her joy.

The crash of applause at the end startled them both; Tony saw Ginny's thin chest heaving a bit, a trickle of sweat along her temple. He moved to lift her, and the little smile she flashed at him let him know that she was ready. Lightly, swiftly he raised her up, adrenaline letting him hold her practically over his head, and in an arc he set her down again.

The audience ate it up, and both of them blushed. At least, Tony knew Ginny did; behind her freckles she was rosy in the stage lights.

They waved to the wings; the rest of the company came on for bows, some of the littler ones giggling. The company waved to the orchestra, who rose and bowed, and then after two more curtain calls, it was over. Tony breathed a heavy sigh, feeling light and full of energy. He scrambled out of his costume and gave it back to Mrs. Manouf, wiped off his make-up quickly, and slipped out the side door, making his way through the half-empty auditorium to where Aunt Lucy and Jarvis were waiting, both of them smiling.

"T-Eddie, you were _wonderful _honey! Oh my God I had no _idea_ you were that good! Oh if only . . ." she stopped, and lowered her voice, and Tony knew what she had been going to say.

"Yeah," he sighed, refusing to let even that melancholy thought ruin the elation he still felt. "Maybe Mr. Mike will video it and I can get a copy."

"Outstanding, Mr. Dellarosa," Jarvis offered warmly. "As fine a performance of Tchaikovsky's ballet as I've ever seen, given the age of the principals."

Tony grinned. "Did you _see_ Ginny? She was great! Hang on, let me go get her—" Before his aunt could protest, he was off, darting back the way he'd come, searching out his partner.

Ginny was there in the hallway between the dressing rooms, hugging her father; Tony hung back, not wanting to break in on a personal moment. He waited, and finally when Ginny let go, Tony waved to her. Both Mr. McGann and she turned to him, and Tony spoke up, quickly. "Hey, can you come meet my aunt and her butler? They both thought you were really great and I did too, Ginny. Please?"

Ginny looked up at her dad, and he nodded. "Sure honey. I'll wait here for you, okay?"

Tony looked back to make sure she was following him, and then sped up, weaving through people like an otter. He reached his aunt again in record time, grinning, and half-turned as Ginny nearly bumped into him. "Aunt Lucy, this is Ginny. Wasn't she great?"

"You were," Aunt Lucy confirmed, holding out a gloved hand. Ginny took it and shook gently, a little overwhelmed by the pretty woman in the fur coat and diamonds.

"Thank you," she whispered, slightly awed.

"It was a pleasure to watch you dance tonight," came the soft compliment from the man standing next to Aunt Lucy. Tony saw Ginny blinked at him.

"That's Jarvis," he offered. "He's cool."

Ginny almost giggled when she saw the man's eyebrow go up.

Then someone came towards them, voice warm and sweet. "Well, well, if it isn't my two best riders from Route Eight! You two were wonderful tonight! I'm gonna have to tell everyone to pick up a ticket!"

Aunt Lucy looked a little surprised, but Tony and Ginny both grinned. The woman beamed, and stuck out a hand to them both. "Mrs. Jessie Parker of the New York Transit System."

"I'm Eddie and this is Ginny," Tony replied cheerfully. "Thanks for coming to the show!"

"After that pretty preview in the snow," the woman laughed, "I jus' _had_ to!" Looking up at Aunt Lucy she explained, "They were dancing at the bus stop when I pulled up a few weeks ago. So pretty in the streetlight. I don't get to see things like that too often; good for the soul."

"Indeed," Jarvis murmured, "it is," and Tony blushed.

*** *** ***

The next four performances were good; none of them had the zing of opening night, but the ticket sales were brisk, and Mr. Mike was pleased with the ensemble's performances.

Then came the bad matinee.

Everyone seemed rushed; some of the props weren't in place and the dancer playing Mother Ginger had the hiccups. A button came loose from Tony's costume jacket during his first leap.

And he fell.

Normally that wouldn't be a terrible thing because all dancers had missteps and accidents. Mr. Mike had told them it would happen, and reminded them that getting up and finishing was what mattered; that the audience would always be kind because performing was hard and everyone understood.

But this was his own fault, and Tony knew it. This wasn't an accident as much as it was his own careless confidence. That and the stupid Nutcracker head. He'd never gotten the eyeholes widened, and after all this time Tony had assumed he could dance more by feel than anything else. He was doing a turn near the edge of the footlights, thinking about telling Mrs. Manouf about the button, and his slipper landed on the rim of the stage. He wavered for a moment, arms swinging to try and shift his balance, but it was too late, and Tony went down, right between two of the cellos.

There was a gasp from the audience, and from the cellists, but Tony lucked out and landed in a half crouch on a coat, glad that the stage was a low one. He scrambled back up, tugged the Nutcracker head on more firmly and finished his dance, manfully ignoring the smattering of supportive applause as he cursed himself in the darkness of his headpiece. Once he reached the wings at the scene shift, Miss Jill was there, taking the head from him, her gaze sharp. "Eddie! Are you all right?"

He nodded miserably. "Yeah. I landed on my feet," he told her, moving deeper backstage. "I'm sorry."

"Accidents happen," came her automatic response, "But be more careful—I'm okay with being Drosselmeyer; I don't want to be the prince too!" With that she reached over and squeezed his shoulder; Tony's mouth twisted in a wry smile as he watched her go round up the little ones.

Ginny came off-stage, eyes wide and he shook his head at her. "I'm fine. Just decided to liven things up by taking a dive."

"That was scary," she told him softly, and for a moment he felt touched by her concern. Then Ginny added, "I would have to dance all by _myself _if you broke your leg down there."

"Oh thanks," Tony muttered, but she grinned and punched his shoulder.

"Come on, we have to get changed—"

Somehow they made it through that awful matinee, and weirdly enough, the audience seemed to love them more, even though one of the curtains caught on a piece of scenery, and Flavia the Sugar Plum fairy accidentally smacked one of her supporting dancers in the face during a spin. When the last bow was taken, Mr. Mike clapped his hands and told everyone to meet out front once the audience was gone.

A glumness fell over the troupe; most of them understood that having a meeting after the show was _not _a good thing. Tony, especially steeled himself for the dressing down that was sure to come; it didn't make it any easier knowing he deserved it.

When the big doors at the back of the auditorium swung closed, and most of the cast were back in street clothes and quiet, sitting here and there on the stage, Mr. Mike came down the main aisle of the auditorium and sighed loudly.

"You are troopers," he told them firmly. "And that means you did the best you could when things were not going well. I'm very proud of you for keeping the show going today because I know it was hard. That's what dancers do, and all of you are _real _dancers. It's easy when everything is going right, and all the props are there, and the costumes fit and you know your marks. The sign of good dancers is that you can give a good performance when things _aren't_ going well."

A little sigh of relief ran through the company; Tony felt a bit better for the cheering words, and could see Ginny did too. Even Flavia looked relieved. Then Mr. Mike spoke again. "That being said, I think it would be a good idea if we all concentrated a little bit more. I would like you all here twenty minutes earlier so we can warm up for our last performance. I need you to do your absolute best, because my mother is coming to the show."

This brought a round of disbelief from the younger dancers, most of whom could not imagine Mr. Mike having a mother. He waved for the dismissal, but when Tony tried to slink off, the soft clearing of a throat stopped him. Turning, Tony looked back at Mr. Mike, who came down to the edge of the stage and looked up at him, arms crossed. "Mr. Dellarosa. About your fall . . ."

"I'm sorry. It . . ." Tony wanted to blame it on the headpiece; on having to dance with most of his vision blocked, on the stupidity of having to wear something the size of a football helmet, but even as the excuses came to mind, he simply hung his head. " . . . was all my own fault. I overshot my mark."

"Yes," Mr. Mike agreed. "And the consequences could have been tragic. Do you know how much a cello _costs?_"

Tony looked down to see Mr. Mike's semi-stern expression and the twinkle in his eye. "Um, three thousand dollars?" he guessed, cockiness somewhat restored.

"At least. Not to mention the loss of a fine and upcoming cavalier. Don't let your confidence get ahead of your footwork again, Edward; it will cost you dearly someday. Dismissed, young man."

*** *** ***

There was a mingled excitement and sadness for the last performance; Ginny could feel it in the air, like a sort of perfume. She and Trish talked about lots of nothing, and as she laced up her slippers, Ginny sighed. She wasn't as stomach-fluttery now; at least not about dancing. Now she could go out on the wooden stage and look at the footlights and step into the music like it was water.

That was good.

She was still worried about Daddy, even though he smiled and kidded her, but he napped a lot, and used the heating pad all the time. He had new bottles of pills too, and Ginny tried to stay quiet when he was sleeping.

But, after tonight _Nutcracker_ would be over, and they could settle into Christmas. Ginny hoped she and Trish would be able to go skating at the Rockefeller Center during the break; maybe even invite a few of the other dancers to go too. Ginny wondered if Eddie had ever been skating before. Maybe not, she figured, but he was good at picking things up, and she could picture him playing Crack the Whip and laughing.

Ginny got up and went to go warm up, happy and sad inside at the same time.

Everyone rose to their best for the last night; for everything that had gone wrong before was now smoothed over and easy. For the first time, Ginny really _did_ feel like Clara, and under the lights she danced with genuine joy in each step.

Eddie had it too, she noticed, and their flow was perfect. Ginny felt she could have danced in the dark, or with a blindfold on, and still, Eddie would have been right there to brace her, or match her or turn with her perfectly, just as he did now. It never, she knew, would have _ever_ felt like this with Steve. Steve could have learned the steps, but he'd never have blended with her, or balanced out her part of the dance in the easy, happy way Eddie did right now.

The joy welled in her, and for moment after moment, Ginny McGann felt she was flying.

The applause went on and on; it startled her to remember there were people out there beyond the lights. A big bouquet came over the footlights and Eddie brought it to her, grinning as he put it in her arms. Roses, big yellow and orange roses, sweet-smelling, in a cone of green tissue. Ginny blinked at the gift, and Eddie bent quickly and kissed her cheek.

At that, the applause welled up again, and Ginny looked around, feeling a little lost, but Eddie waved to the wings, and the rest of the company came out to join them and take their bows. Then Mr. Mike came out and stood between Eddie and Ginny and bowed as well. Ginny clutched her roses, making the paper crinkle as Mr. Mike thanked the orchestra and had them bow too.

And then it was over.

Everyone chattered and laughed and raced back to the dressing rooms, relief and adrenaline making them three times noisier than usual. There were plans to meet at Pizza Cake, and last minute directions, and Mrs. Manouf collecting costumes and dispensing hugs. Ginny shyly thanked people who were congratulating her, and made her way to the make up table so she could clean her face.

As she finished, she looked in the mirror; Eddie stood behind her, his dark eyes bright. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Hey Ginny," he whispered quickly.

"Yeah?"

"My _mom_ and _dad _are here. They . . . they came to the show!" he told her, his voice strained, and his expression twisted up. Ginny could tell he was trying to stay calm, but she could feel his grip tighten on her shoulders and she squirmed a little. Instantly Eddie let go, embarrassed. "So I can't go to Pizza Cake because I'm going with them but I really, really want them to meet you. Is that okay?"

She turned and looked at Eddie, fidgeting there, and somehow she knew how important this was to him; more than meeting his aunt. He looked happy and scared at the same time.

Like he needed a hug, and he couldn't ask for one.

"Okay," Ginny agreed gently. "Sure."

They made their way out to the hall, and Eddie led her to the emergency door; the one Mr. Mike said not to use. When he pushed it open, a man and woman stepped in, moving to stand on either side of Eddie, like they were protecting him, Ginny thought.

"You danced divinely, Miss McGann," Eddie's mother smiled. She was a pretty woman, with dark hair and eyes like Eddie. She was short, too.

"It was a great show," came Eddie's dad, and Ginny could see that he was a big man with grey in his hair. He and Eddie had the same smile, and the same sort of pointed nose.

"Thank you," Ginny murmured quietly. "It was fun. Eddie did a really good job and he was nice to me, so that was good too."

"Eh," Eddie mumbled, but she could tell he was pleased to hear her say so.

His mother hugged him, and laughed a little. "Yes, well it's good to know he's working some of that energy of his off in a productive way, and not blowing up the kitchen anymore."

"I only did that _once_," Eddie sighed. "And Tiger's hair grew back just fine."

"Not his whiskers," Eddie's mother murmured, but she was smiling, and Ginny grinned a little too.

"I think it's time to go, son," his dad rumbled, and for a moment all four of them stood uneasily.

Finally Ginny made a little nod of her head, and whispered, "It was good to meet you," and held out her hand. Eddie's mother took it and pressed it between her own; Ginny liked how warm her touch was.

"And so very good to meet you, Miss McGann. You have an exciting future ahead of you."

Ginny blushed; the dark eyes that looked down on her were warm, and she could tell that Eddie's mother meant it.

Eddie's dad sighed. "Go say goodbye, and we'll meet you out back. Sub rosa, okay?"

Ginny didn't know what "sub rosa" meant, but Eddie apparently did, because he nodded. "I just need a couple of minutes."

He darted away. Ginny waved shyly at the two grownups and followed him back up the hall, heading back to change her clothes, but when she reached for her bag she saw the package at the bottom. She'd meant to give him the Christmas present at the party after the performance, but--

_If Eddie's leaving __**now-- **_

Grabbing the package, she sped back out to look for Eddie, hoping she hadn't missed him. To her relief, he was just saying goodbye to Mr. Mike, and as she watched he hurried towards the emergency doors. Ginny dashed after him. "Eddie, wait!"

*** *** ***

The party was noisy and fun, and Ginny was starving. She sat with Dad and Mom and ate slice after slice of pizza, chattering with them about the performance and then going over to see Trish and her family, but the whole time she was conscious of a sort of disappointment, because Eddie wasn't there.

Mr. Mike had stood up at the start of the party and told them that Mr. Dellarosa had been unexpectedly called away and wouldn't be returning, but then he went on to say that they'd all done a wonderful job, from Ginny down to the littlest party children, and including Eddie. From the way he was smiling, Ginny had the feeling that he knew why Eddie had to leave all of a sudden, but she didn't worry about it.

She missed him, sure, but he was happy now, back with his family.

Ginny was pulling on her coat at the end of the party when a tall slender man in a long coat appeared at her side. She looked up at him and suddenly recognized him; he was the man who had been with Eddie's aunt. "Hello, Mr. Jarvis."

He gave her a little approving smile. "Hello, Miss McGann. I have been tasked with delivering this to you since Mr. Dellarosa could not." He held out a rather lumpy package, flat on the bottom but with the paper stretched over a hump on top and thickly taped.

Ginny took it in surprise; she hadn't expected a present back from Eddie. "Um...thank you."

Jarvis bowed just slightly. "All the blessings of the season to you, Miss McGann." And then he was gone.

Ginny didn't unwrap the package until she was ready for bed, alone in her room; somehow that seemed the right time. The lump was something rolled in crumpled tissue paper. When she opened it, Ginny's mouth made a little o, because it was a tiny wind-up dancer figurine with a key. Carefully, she wound it and set it down on her desk, and it spun across the surface with stiff grace. When it wound down and stopped, she opened the flat part.

It was the Vaganova ballet book.

*** *** ***

Tony stared out the window of the little jet, even though there was nothing to see but darkness. Behind him he could hear his mom and Aunt Lucy talking softly, barely audible over the roar of the engines; off to one side, his dad was snoring in his own seat.

Tony had fallen asleep himself for a little while, after the steward served them all dinner, but now he was wide awake. Shoving off the blanket someone had put over him, he stood up and stretched, feeling the post-performance ache in his muscles, and then went to use the head.

The steward was reading in the little kitchen when Tony passed back by, and Tony gave him a nod and grabbed a Coke from the fridge. When he got back to his seat, he saw Ginny's present sticking out of his bag on the opposite seat, and reached for it. There hadn't been time to open it before.

It was nice of her to give him a present, he thought as he ripped the paper off; it was really like her. He didn't know what to expect, and the plain cardboard box underneath didn't give him any clues.

But when he opened it and slid out the contents, Tony grinned. _Yep. That's Ginny. _

The glossy, brightly-painted Nutcracker grinned back.

*** *** ***

_December, 2009_

The Maria Dellarosa Center for the Performing Arts glittered in the sparkle of holiday lights, and Tony took a moment to admire the view before he slid out of the limousine. Despite the lack of snow, the wonderland effect was in full charm with an avenue of Christmas trees loaded with strands of crystal and glass ornaments. An ensemble was playing softly, the holiday music soothing on the mild breeze just before twilight, and Tony smiled.

Pepper slid out behind him and Tony absently held a hand to assist her, his gaze still on the decorations. "Not too shabby," he murmured.

"Given that we're looking at about a half a million dollars in Swarovski crystals, yes, I'd say so," Pepper murmured, blinking a bit at the glitter.

"Worth it," he replied. "Ready for the show?"

Pepper nodded. "Yes. Thank you for the invitation."

Tony shot her a sidelong glance, half a smirk, half a sigh. "It took enough arm-twisting to get you to agree, even with all your stipulations about it not being a date or anything."

"It's not," Pepper automatically reiterated, avoiding his gaze. "We're here to enjoy the production, Mr. Stark. To show our appreciation of a holiday classic."

Tony waved a hand as they strolled to the entrance, the crowd parting for them respectfully. A few camera flashes make the lights twinkle more brightly. "To see if anyone falls in the orchestra pit, you mean."

Pepper shot him a glance, but a burly reporter from Channel 9 stepped up in front of them and she shifted back, to be out of the camera's eye as the first questions started.

They were ushered into the Stark Suite, and Tony dropped into one of the lush burgundy recliners, pulling off his scarf and tossing it carelessly on the side table. Pepper settled into the seat next to him, her gaze already on the gold velvet curtains down below. Without looking, she fished out her BlackBerry and turned the sound off before re-pocketing it.

Tony did the same with his phone and closed his eyes.

"Going to sleep?" she murmured, feeling a hint of disappointment. Tony shook his head, slightly.

"Letting it sink in. It's been a long time since my last Nutcracker, Miss Potts, and I'm savoring it," he replied quietly. "Reminds me of my aunt."

They didn't speak once the Miniature Overture began and the curtain rose.

Pepper lost herself in the familiar story, finding an aching joy in watching Clara dance far down below, moving sweetly through choreography that still sent little impulses through her _own_ arms and feet. It was silly, really--although she occasionally did the stretches, Pepper hadn't danced in years, and yet the reflex was there, even now, that urge to rise out of her seat and move to the music.

Tony turned his head to look at her during the Russian Dance, and she pinkened a little. "I . . . . danced in this, a long time ago," Pepper confessed. She braced herself for teasing, or questions; Tony was generally nosy and she expected him to demand details. Instead, he shot her a smile and said nothing.

Very quietly--nearly twenty minutes later--he murmured, "I did too."

That floored her for a moment, and Pepper's gaze flickered from the stage and performers shifting into her favorite piece back to Tony's profile in the semi-darkness. He didn't look at her, but the brackets at the corners of his mouth were deep as he smiled.

His statement lingered at the back of her thoughts as she watched the rest of the performance, not exactly nagging at her, but waiting, gently, to be reconsidered.

*** *** ***

Tony enjoyed himself. His public self wasn't particularly noted for patronage of the Arts, but _everyone_ went to see _The Nutcracker_ at Christmas, and it was a nice way to captain the Center in the media's eyes.

And he liked ballet. Not for the stories, which were usually traditional and not interesting, but for the variations in choreography and the physical prowess of the dancers; the skill in making hard work seem effortless.

He thought of the woman sitting next to him. The woman trying hard to stay still, even though he could see her head moving fractionally to the music, and sense the little suppressed twitches through her frame.

A woman who had the skill in making hard work seem effortless.

Who had once been, Tony slowly realized, a _girl_ who had made hard work seem effortless.

For a second, he felt a sweet rush of giddiness in the pit of his stomach. He'd wondered about her years ago; hoped that things had gone well for her and that she'd kept up her dancing. She had _had_ that spark that could have flared into greatness.

But here she was, running his schedule and managing his budget. He remembered in a sudden surge of memory. Someone--her dad? had been ill, and that sort of thing could have taken up a lot of time and money . . .

Tony tensed a little, hit by a moment of sorrowful compassion, and then shot a sidelong glance at Pepper, who was smiling at the scene change down below. Her profile, so familiar to him, took on a deeper significance as he overlaid a younger, smaller memory against it. Same nose, same delicate ear . . . .

Ginny. Short for Virginia.

Had to be.

He bided his time, settling back to impatiently wait out the rest of the performance.

When the show was over, they lingered in the Suite, waiting for the company to receive their due and the crowds below to move out. Tony rose and fiddled with his scarf. "Liked it?"

"Very much," Pepper assured him. "It's always been one of my favorites."

"Ever since you were a little girl?" Tony couldn't resist asking, keeping his face averted from her.

"Yes," she replied serenely, taking his question at face value. "And you?"

"It had its moments," Tony acknowledged. "Live music is half the charm, I think."

Pepper agreed, and the headed for the door and the private elevator; halfway through the descent, Tony cleared his throat. "Hey, before we go, let's check out the set."

She looked startled. "The set? Why?"

"Because I _can_," he responded, not quite grinning at her surprise. "Oh come on, Potts; you know you _want_ to."

It was fun to see common sense and curiosity struggle in her expression, more so since his earlier revelation, and Tony waited it out, letting the elevator bring them to the main foyer. He stepped forward, moving into the theater and Pepper followed him, her steps still slightly reluctant.

"I'm not going to get in trouble," Tony assured her over his shoulder. "I DO own the place."

"Tony," she began, and stopped, knowing resistance was futile. They strode down the slope of the theater to the stage, and Tony gave a wave to the orchestra pit, where several musicians were starting to pack up.

"Great job; one of the best renditions I've heard," he assured them. A few thanked him; most gave a pleased nod for the recognition and continued tucking away sheet music and cleaning instruments. Tony trotted to the side of the stage and up the stairs, striding out onto the main floor with confidence.

The house lights were down, and the theater empty by this point; everyone had gone home or backstage, so Pepper moved to join Tony, her expression chagrined when he turned to her.

"So you danced it, huh?" he murmured conversationally. "One of the company, maybe a party guest?"

His tone irritated her slightly; it held a hint of amusement in it and Pepper pursed her lips. "Actually, I danced the _lead,_ Mr. Stark."

"Clara," Tony replied, moving to stand next to Pepper, both of them facing out towards the seats. "Ah yes, I could see that. Long legs, laser focus, a restless need to be . . . _perfect_."

He extended his arm and stood, waiting.

*** *** ***

Pepper stiffened, and his previous statement suddenly flashed in her mind like a firework, bringing with it a sharp jolt of memory, the focus

_"I danced it, too,"_

coming so quickly that she nearly gasped.

Not thinking, just reacting, she-----

She let him brace her for her arabesque, and they moved from that to her three fouetté en tournants, which flowed into the half-turns and at the end of the segment when Pepper knew she was supposed to twirl and lean back into his arms with her own extended, she did it without hesitating.

So easily it all came back. So effortlessly, and for a weird moment, Pepper wasn't sure if she was in the here and now or not. There was the stage, the light and the cavalier---

Pepper held the pose until his soft voice whispered In her ear, "Hel-lo, freckle puss."

She pulled away, locking gazes with Eddie Dellarosa.

"Oh my God . . ." Pepper managed, feeling faint. "Eddie. You. were. Eddie."

"Nutcracker, Rostov's Academy, winter of eighty something. Lead flaked out, I was understudy, _Ginny,_ and you blew them away. We totally rocked the Wilson that season," Tony grinned. "I take back everything I ever said about not believing in fate, and I bet Jarvis would put the odds of this at twenty zillion to one."

Pepper nodded, feeling a weightlessness to her stomach as she stared at him. Same dark eyes and hair, same quicksilver, cocky attitude overlaid on a man's frame now. "You lived with your aunt, and you used to walk me and Trish Louis home from rehearsals. You met my dad before he died," she murmured in a breathless voice.

Tony nodded.

Tenderly, he reached out and took Pepper's hands, holding them in his own, feeling his touch warm hers squeezing them gently. "Let's go have dinner, Ginny McGann."

Pepper looked back at him, meeting those warm brown eyes

"Sure," she smiled back. "Sounds good, Eddie Dellarosa. Because I think we have a lot to catch up on."

Tony slid behind her, hands at her waist and lifted her up. Pepper didn't have time to protest, and the view was higher than she remembered, but when he set her down again and moved closer, Pepper smiled.

"Bigger," she whispered, "_and_ perfect."

"Yep," Tony agreed. "And better every year."

Pepper suddenly knew he meant more, much more than just the lift, or even the show by that . . . .

And she trusted him.

End


End file.
